


I wish I had a river I could skate away on

by Magali_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: All the Starks are alive, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Magic, Don't hate me for this, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Some of them, Viserys Needs a Hug, christmas tropes, dany is a mess, dark whenever it can be too, happy happy christmas all year round, kings landing is a neighborhood in london, love is all around at christmas, ptsd a bit, shamelessly written because of emilias new movie, so many christmas tropes, they're just cute human beans at christmas time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-10-06 18:43:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 72,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20511707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: A year after surviving a violent attack on Christmas Eve, Daenerys tries to figure out her life, with the help of a handsome stranger named Jon, who shares similar demons and a connection with her.COMPLETE





	1. i'm so hard to handle, i'm selfish and i'm sad

**Author's Note:**

> First foray into Modern AU, solely inspired by Emilia Clarke's new Christmas movie. Will likely post one chapter a week bringing us straight through to Christmas. Maybe every other week, haven't decided. I'm working on a shitty moodboard to go with the fic too, will add that soonish. Eeeeek, freaked out about posting this now!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prologue: At Christmastime, Jon copes with a difficult event; a chance encounter leads to something bigger.

_It's coming on Christmas,_  
_They're cutting down trees._  
_Putting up reindeer_  
_And singing songs of joy and peace,_  
_Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on._

**The River, Joni Mitchell**

**i. prologue**  
**2018AC**

It was always cold here, but today more so. So cold it bit the exposed skin of your face, threatening to crack it like ice. So cold your body didn’t even register it any longer and just thrummed your heart in a beat fast enough to keep you alive. If there was a sun out, it was hidden behind the gray clouds that threatened to drop more snow, which was no longer soft and fluffy and perfect for a day of play, instead it was cold, angry, and hard. It crunched beneath feet and turned quickly to dark and ugly black in the mud. 

The tree limbs hung heavy with it, cracking sounds breaking the silence of the cold, like the ice that occasionally fell in daggers from the rest of the limbs. It was horrible and dreary and it fit the mood for the reason why the family gathered beneath a great white tree with bright red leaves, a strange hybrid called a weirwood.

It was a private event in the family’s personal plot on the grounds of the great estate in Northern Scotland. Statues of family leaders stood frozen in time and wearing with age around them, each one stoic and with a great wolf at their feet. Some even held swords, from ages long past when that was a weapon of choice. It reminded anyone who passed by just what kind of family lived in the great castle beyond the thicket of trees they called their godswood, keeping up with the familial traditions of old, when the stone men and their wolves prayed to forest gods. 

The Stark family always had a way about them when it came to their family traditions.

Including their burials. 

Everyone gathered around the plot, which would have its own stone statue to honor the leader of the family soon enough. This had been sudden and no one was prepared for what it all meant. How would they go on, they muttered amongst themselves, without their honorable father and husband? 

The ground was frozen under Jon Snow’s boots as he stared at the black coffin that lowered into the ground. His little sister—really his cousin—Arya was huddled against him, as close as she could get without actually admitting that she wanted him to hug her. He was her favorite and she didn’t let anyone forget it, but she was also pretending like this wasn’t affecting her. Strong Arya with her ability to turn off how she felt and put on a mask of sorts, mimicking anyone around her. 

His gray eyes, just like his cousin’s sought out the bright blue of his oldest brother, who stood beside his aunt, the woman he had considered more of an evil stepmother throughout his entire life. Robb knew he had to take over how to handle the estate, the family businesses, and also care for his mother, who had been almost bedridden in her grief over her husband’s sudden death. 

Robb didn’t blink, not one tear falling down his angular face as the priest spoke about ashes to ashes and all that. He glanced from Robb to the second oldest brother Bran, who was in his wheelchair, the tires caked with mud and snow and the warm faux fur blanket over his knees to hide his thin legs—unused for much of his life since an accident as a child—collecting droplets of snow that fell off the tree leaves above them. 

The priest’s mutterings were hard to hear over the sound of Catelyn Stark’s crying and his sister Sansa’s sobs. Sansa had been beside herself, being the one to see the heart attack that took her father and been unable to stop it, grabbing for him too late as she entered the office and unable to get to the phone in time before he’d passed. He hadn’t been there. He should have been there, he thought darkly, watching the coffin disappear, lower and lower and lower. 

Rickon was too young to understand what was happening and had been left up at the house with his nanny and a couple of family friends. He’d been at the main service but beyond that it was too much for them all to try to explain what had happened to his father. Just that one moment he was there and then he was gone. 

And fucking Santa Claus was supposed to come tonight to deliver presents and all that. Rickon was more concerned, at the age of six, about that then he was where is father had gone. He was going to be one fucked up kid, Jon thought, closing his eyes and wishing Arya would just grab his arm and be done with it, she was getting so close. He finally reached and tugged her against him, feeling her stiffen at the outward emotion and then finally relax, her head dropping to his shoulder as she gripped him tight. 

They had chosen blue roses for the top of the coffin. It was the same flower that Jon knew had adorned his mother’s coffin when his uncle had buried her, not long after he’d buried his father and brother. Jon sighed, wishing his Uncle Benjen was there as well, he felt less of an outsider with Benjen around too. He waited his turn, as each one of them picked up a handful of dirt and sprinkled it into the open grave atop the roses, marring their cold beauty. 

He knelt and went to get some dirt when Catelyn sent him the same stony glare he had only ever received from her his entire life. He knew what that meant and let go of the dirt, letting it trickle down to the ground at his side. “Mother come on,” Robb said, turning her away from the sight as she cried into his shoulder. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded. 

“Fuck mom,” Arya muttered.

“Arya!” Sansa exclaimed. She gestured to the coffin. “We’re burying Father!”

“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Stop both of you,” Bran mumbled to himself. 

While they bickered, which seemed to cheer Jon somewhat that his uncle’s sudden death wouldn’t completely ruin the family dynamic, he reached for a handful of dirt and began to drop it, watching each bit of soil make its way down with the light wind to dust the tops of the flowers. 

As he sprinkled, he closed his eyes, praying to the old gods he knew his uncle still followed, much to his Catholic wife’s displeasure. She thought they were hedonistic. He prayed his uncle was in a better place, free from the pain he no doubt had felt in his last moments, the stress of the many business and family obligations weighing on him, and reunited with his family members. 

Tell my mother I said hello, he thought, opening his eyes. When he opened them he found that the rest of the family had left him with some peace. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his old black overcoat, something he never wore because he had no reason, and peered around at the Stark cemetery. He looked back at his uncle’s coffin. “Thank you Father,” he murmured. Ned Stark had been the only father he had ever known, taking him in as a babe, when he could have just let him go to a foster home…or wherever his real father happened to be, not that anyone knew. 

He tore himself away, drawn down the worn path in the snow, his boots crunching. He had disgusted Catelyn when he’d shown up wearing dark jeans and his boots instead of a suit, but he hadn’t thought to grab one when he’d heard the news. All he’d gotten was a text from Arya saying that father had had a heart attack and to hurry up to Winterfell immediately. It had been a five hour train ride to Edinburgh and then another three hours by train to the small village of Winter Town, where he had one of the family’s stable hands, a great man called Hodor, pick him up and take him to the estate. 

It had all happened so fast he was lucky he’d remembered to get his friend Sam in London to watch Ghost for him. He didn’t realize when he’d arrived that Arya hadn’t had the full information. Ned was dead, not just in the hospital sick. No one had thought to call him on his journey? He had been furious. Ned was his father too. 

He stopped at the grave at the end of the path. All the statues were reserved for the heads of the family, in some arcane tradition of the Starks, but Ned had loved his sister so much and she had died so young, he’d immortalized her in a statue of her own. “Hi Mother,” he murmured, reaching to touch the outstretched stone hand. He glanced at the words etched into the base of the statue. 

_Lyanna Stark. Daughter, Sister, Mother._

The mother I never knew, he thought, kneeling and rubbing his thumb over the etchings. If she ever told anyone who his father was, he didn’t know. Maybe Ned. Maybe it was just her secret to keep. He didn’t much care. All he knew was that she had left Winterfell when she was young, running off with a musician—the only thing he had guessed about his biological father— to London, much to the chagrin of Ned’s best friend who had been obsessed with her. Robert Baratheon had lost his cool, run after her, almost started a damn war to get her back, and in the end she’d called Ned from Spain, crying about how she was sick and pregnant and needed help. He’d run to her, only for her to die in hospital almost as soon as he got there. He’d taken Jon with him back to the estate, to be raised alongside his newborn son. 

Since he was newborn this place had been his home. Even for all of his father’s wife’s attempts to remind him of his ‘true place’ or whatever the fuck, he thought of it as the place where he had said his first words, took his first steps, broke his arm jumping off the stable roof, kissed his first girl, had his first hangover…it was his home.

Except today.

Today was the first time in all that time, as mean as Catelyn could get, as much as he stood out in family photos as ‘the other’, and as distant as the Stark name was to him, despite being a Stark by blood, he felt alone. He felt like he didn’t belong. 

When Ned died it was like any claim Jon had to Winterfell died too.

I need to get back. 

Besides, Catelyn would probably be pleased. Might lighten up on the resentment and pain she was directing at her children. He mused on that for a moment, standing in the snow outside of the cemetery gate for a moment. Catelyn wasn’t a Stark, she was from an old family that lived in the marshes, the Tullys. Their family sigil was a fucking fish and she certainly acted like it, all cold and unblinking at him. It wasn’t like Ned cheated on her and dragged back a baby from his mistress for her to raise. Ned didn’t even expect Jon growing up to call her ‘mother.’ Hell she wasn’t even Aunt Catleyn, he just couldn’t even speak to her. 

Catelyn didn’t like him for one very stupid reason. Robb had it figured out when they were teens. Once their facial hair started growing in and they started filling out their gangly awkward bodies. Jon looked in the mirror one day, scrubbed at his face, and Robb walked in and said “Oh hello Ned.” 

Meanwhile Robb’s hair turned auburn like his mother’s, his eyes bright blue, and he had the stockiness of the Tullys as opposed to the lean lines of the Starks. It was a fucking stupid reason, but Catelyn didn’t like him because the moment people saw him they assumed he was Ned’s son, not Robb. Then there was the matter of the estate itself.

He stopped on a step of stone stairs that led down to the great castle, the cemetery strangely close, compared to other homes. Winterfell had great circular stone turrets and wolves etched into the ramparts. Chimneys rose throughout and it was set on hot springs that had given it warmth in the old days. It was a cold and foreboding castle. It had stables and an old smith where in the last century the inhabitants forged weapons and bows. Many now on display in one of the halls where those same people also used to hold feasts. 

With Winterfell came the heavy taxes, but also the businesses associated. The whiskey distillery, the coal mines, and all other manner of assorted things that Jon could have given two fucks about when he’d essentially run away and fucked up his life a bit. A stint in the military had straightened him out, but he was still angry all the damn time. 

If after Ned’s death the will said anything about him taking on any part of the estate he would donate it to one of the others. He wanted nothing to do with it and even if he did, Catelyn would glare at him until he let go. He was never allowed to have a piece of this place. He didn’t want it. 

Fuck the estate. 

The snow was wet and cold on his boots, soaking over the tops of them to the bottom of his jeans. He entered the mudroom off the back, stomping off the caked mud and ice, but not much caring if he tracked in anything else. No doubt Catelyn would find a way to find fault in him regardless of if he had boots on or off. Especially today. He opened the back door, what might have once been a servant’s entrance, and descended into the massive kitchen, with its fancy stainless steel appliances, rustic eaves and beams, and old-fashioned wrought iron accents on the oak wood cabinetry. Arya was pouring some whiskey into a coffee cup. He frowned. He thought she preferred vodka to whiskey. “That’s a bit much there.”

Arya did not even turn. Probably knew he was already there anyway. She had eyes in the back of her head. “It’s for Mom, I want her to pass out.”

“You’re drugging your mother?”

“No, I wanted to crush up sleeping pills, but Robb said no, just a couple fingers of whiskey would do.” He arched an eyebrow. Looked like more than a couple fingers to him. She turned around and smiled sadly at him. Same dark gray eyes as his. He called her his little shadow when they were kids. “I’m sorry she can’t even be nice to you on this day.”

Forget it. Arya was always apologizing for her mother. He waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll probably be dead before she decides to be nice to me,” he teased. He glanced around at the cheery holiday decorations, the pine garland strung around the windows with tiny twinkle lights and the calendar countdown on the fridge. Rickon had removed the door on it already for Christmas Eve, leaving tomorrow still closed. 

“When are you going back to London?”

“Tonight.”

The coffee mug clinked loudly as she dropped it hard onto the granite countertop. He knew she was going to be pissed. “The hell Jon? It’s Christmas Eve!”

“Yeah, so?”

“You can’t stick around for tonight? I mean tomorrow is going to be fucked, we’re supposed to be smiling and laughing and opening presents and pretending like we’re not all fucking miserable while Rickon laughs and wonders where Dad is?” Arya rambled. She wiped fast at her eyes and shook her head, protesting. “No, I’m not having it.” The giant sweater she wore dwarfed her, and she jostled a bit as she pushed the sleeves back quickly. 

It was father’s, he realized. A big cable-knit thing he kept draped over the back of his office chair for when the fire just wouldn’t do. Damnit Arya, why do you always have to pretend to be so strong? He walked around the big island and enveloped her tiny frame into his large arms, hugging her close. She fought him for a moment and then finally the dam broke, the tears she had kept pent up over the past few days letting loose. Even as he fought to remain strong for his baby sister, he closed his eyes tight, and tried his damndest to keep the ones pricking at the corners of his eyes from letting go. 

He was going back early because of Ghost, he lied through his grit teeth, but in truth it was because he didn’t want to sit there tomorrow morning in the giant living room, with its perfect Christmas tree and the roaring fire in the massive stone hearth, and listen to Rickon chatter about what Santa brought him and all that shit. He didn’t want to open his father’s last present to him, the box stuffed in his duffel bag upstairs, and he really didn’t want to have to sit there and smile with his siblings while his stepmother shot daggers at him, blaming him somehow for all the wrongs in her life like she usually did.

So he would get on the train and he would go back to his shitty studio flat in a shitty part of London called King’s Landing and he would bury himself under the covers with his wolf-dog Ghost and pretend like Christmas didn’t exist. All those happy people bustling from place to place, party to party, and family to family, they could fuck off and leave him be and he would just not come out until after Boxing Day. 

It was a fine plan. 

And he would also get stinking shit-faced drunk. 

Push came to shove, if he truly needed human interaction, he’d go over to his best friend Sam’s house and play with Sam’s son and smile politely at Sam’s wife Gilly and be on his best behavior and all that. Then he would go out and get shit-faced drunk. Maybe stop at the gym on the way back and beat the shit out of the punching bag. If he really needed to let out his aggression, he’d call his other friend Tormund, a great hulking giant of a man, and climb into the gym’s boxing ring with him and beat the shit out of him.

Arya finally tore herself away, wiping at her eyes. “Come on Jon, just stay.”

“Sorry,” he said. I can’t. I just can’t. 

He walked with her to the main foyer, a great old stone hall of the living quarters of the castle, the rest of it partitioned off by modern walls and doors, most of it now a tourist attraction to raise money for the estate’s upkeep. A Ned Stark idea, of course. Robb would be the Warden soon. Winterfell didn’t come with the fancy titles like Earl or Baron or Viscount or all that stuff, but it had its own sort of history among some of the oldest families in the region. Whoever controlled Winterfell was called a Warden. Warden of the North, they used to be called. 

Jon would never get that. He was a bastard and some of these people still hadn’t gotten with the times. He had changed his last name officially, to Ned’s displeasure, when he turned 18. He was never a Stark, not really. He went up to his old room, the smallest of them all, which was still large by most people’s standards. 

Catelyn had tried to take over the room the moment he moved out, but Ned had insisted it remain his for his scant visits home. Just in case, he always said, you want to come back for a bit longer than a weekend. He scanned the room, standing briefly in the doorframe. It was tiny, probably an old closet or something, and the slanted ceilings were covered with old faded concert, band, and his favorite comicbook character posters. There was a simple wardrobe, a dresser, a nightstand, and his desk with a bookcase attached. The bookcase still held some old school textbooks. A box with his military medals that he wished someone would just throw away. The faded plaid coverlet and old space heater that he thought a miracle hadn’t yet exploded.

It was just too fucking quaint for him. The kid that lived here wasn’t the one he was now. He hated this damn day. He glanced at the door, which had a small wreath attached; no doubt Sansa’s doing. He ripped it off and tossed it onto the desk. Reached into the wardrobe and grabbed his duffel. Threw what meager items he had brought with him in the haste he’d left London. He tossed the old overcoat that barely fit, probably last worn at some random Tully funeral or marriage or something when he was a kid. 

He shrugged into his beat up leather jacket and tugged on his fingerless gloves. He reached back behind him and yanked his unruly curls into a messy bun at the nape of his neck. He kept meaning to get a haircut or at least hack at it himself, but life got in the way and he really didn’t care how he looked. He gathered his things, checked his phone to make sure the trains were still running on time since it was Christmas Eve, and guessed he’d be arriving in London almost at midnight, but it would be fine. 

His siblings were in the great living room as he snuck by to the front door, some of them laughing about something Robb had said about Ned. Catelyn was nowhere to be seen, likely in her room, shutting herself off from everyone else. He kind of wanted to see her when she figured out that Arya had drugged her, but oh well. Everything was always about her, he thought darkly, and glanced into the room, wrestling with whether he should stay or go. 

Or at least say goodbye and Merry Christmas. 

He chose the latter—it would be best if he just left. Arya knew where he was going anyway. He took a step by the door, but he’d miscounted on his look into the room. “Where are you going?”

Turning on his heel, he smiled slightly at his brother. Bran pushed his chair forward, the material of the gloves he wore daily rasping against the wheels. He hit the brake on the side, expecting a response. The glasses on the tip of his nose glinted a bit in the many hundreds of fake candles that were on all the various shelves and rafters of the hall. Jon sighed. “Back to London.”

“And you’re just going to sneak out?”

“Come on Bran, don’t make this harder.”

Bran cocked his head. Jon always had the feeling Bran was reading his mind when he looked at him with that slight glassy gaze. He half expected his eyes to roll back and have him disappear off somewhere. Instead, Bran just smirked. “Classic Jon. Running away.”

He sighed. “Don’t make this worse Bran. You and I both know your mother doesn’t want me here.”

“What about Rickon? Or Robb or Theon? He was like a father to him too.” The reference to Theon, who had not even been invited to the private burial, hit Jon hard. Theon had taken Ned’s death almost as bad as the rest of the family, maybe worse, because Ned had taken him in when his own father had kicked him out. Now he had no one. 

Just like me. Except Theon dealt with things differently and he’d likely be lurking around later to go get shitfaced with Robb. Jon didn’t want to deal with that right now. He preferred to get shitfaced alone. “Well I have to work,” he lied.

“You and I both know that’s shit.”

“Look Bran, you guys enjoy what little you can of the holiday, yeah? Christmas was never my favorite anyway.” It just reminded him that he wasn’t really part of their family, he got the least amount of gifts, Ned never stood up for him with Cat, and his heart always ached for his mother. He hefted his duffel onto his shoulder and grabbed his backpack from where it was resting against one of the foyer tables. “I’ve got to go.”

Bran rolled his eyes. “Bye Jon. Happy Christmas and all that.”

Yeah and all that, he thought, sighing as Bran sullenly wheeled himself into the living area, no doubt to let them all know now that he was leaving and abandoning them. Great. He better get out before Sansa decided to start shaming him too. Although she might also be secretly happy he wouldn’t be there. She was always such a cow to him.

He opened the door, hoping the bells on the massive wreath didn’t make too much noise as he shut it with a hard tug. He glanced at his phone, just in time, to see one of his old friends driving up to give him a ride to the train station. He ducked into the car. “Edd,” he greeted.

Eddion Tollet, “Dolorous Edd”, they had taken to calling him in school, gave him a small smile. “I won’t ask how you are, can’t imagine. Fucking Christmas and everything.”

“Yeah I had to get out of there.”

“Cat giving you trouble? What is with that woman?”

Jon had no idea why his stepmother absolutely hated him, but it didn’t matter. With Ned gone she would never have to hide her hatred again, so he imagined his time at Winterfell in the future would not be as relaxing and fun as it had been during his father’s life. He didn’t answer, just peered out the window of the beat-up car Edd still drove from their time in what Ned had called a “rehabilitation center for youth” but what the rest of the world called “juvenile detention.” Jon always referred to the place they’d stayed as “The Wall” because of the great stone wall that looked like ice blocking the view from the North Sea, reminding the inhabitants they were not there to vacation but to figure out why they were such fuckups.

The clunker rumbled down the driveway of the estate towards the main road. The snow had started to fall lightly again. Maybe it would cover up the dirty black stuff that called itself snow currently piled along the side of the road. Edd opened his mouth to say something, but at one quick look, shut his mouth. He reached over and cranked up the volume on the radio, some channel playing screaming rock music blaring through the muffled speakers.

It was fine. Jon needed to drown his thoughts. He flexed his fingers. He needed to fight something. To beat the shit out of something as the anger rose inside of him. It was so not fucking fair. 

Ned was dead. Rickon lost his father, Bran lost his legs, and Robb was barely mid-twenties and now had to manage all the businesses and affairs of his vast family wealth. Sansa was…well Jon didn’t know much about his sister other than she could be a real bitch when she wanted to and was currently obsessed with finding the right boyfriend. Arya was the only one who he trusted would find a way out of this mess of feelings. She at least had a steady “friend who is a boy” as she called him, but Jon knew Gendry Waters was more than that. The son of Ned’s best friend had gotten under his little sister’s skin and for that, Jon wished him luck and also congratulated him.

He blew out a hard breath and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose against the headache that had started forming at the back of his skull. He needed to get home. Get Ghost. Get drunk. Not necessarily in that order, he figured, reaching into his backpack and drawing out a bottle of Winterfell’s best. The company had broken into the whiskey business at the turn of the century and they weren’t bad at it. 

“Jon, really? It’s not even noon.”

“My dad died,” he simply said and took a pull from the bottle. He held it close, almost like a baby, and closed his eyes, trying to push out the dark thoughts that threatened to take over. 

~/~/~/~/~

How did it rain in London instead of snow when snow was happening everywhere else? Gods, Jon hated this fucking place. If he had his way, he’d take Ghost, go as far north as he could, to the very edge of Scotland, build a house and never leave it again. He didn’t know what he’d do for money but something. 

His head felt a little light, but most of the whiskey had worn off after he’d fallen asleep about three hours from King’s Cross. He’d decided to wander the streets on his way to his flat instead of taking a cab or the tube. It was biting cold, the rain freezing and blasting his exposed skin with pellet-like ice, but he didn’t care how it felt. He supposed he’d get Ghost tomorrow. Little Sam might like to wake up and open his presents with the great wolf-dog with him. Might make for some nice pictures. 

As he wandered through King’s Landing, the neighborhood in an odd part of London that it seemed no one really heard about, he wasn’t far from his flat when he felt something bump into his shoulder. He grabbed his duffel to keep from falling and then reached for a woman who had dropped a bag onto the ground into a puddle with a light ‘plop.’ “Gods,” she muttered. 

“Sorry about that, wasn’t looking,” he mumbled, kneeling to pick up the bag. The look and weight of it in his hands resembled a cash bag from a store. He frowned, leaning in a little closer to the woman and hoping he wasn’t being a creep with the move, but there were a couple people hanging around and one guy was glancing in their direction at the commotion. “You know you shouldn’t be walking around this late with that.”

The woman peered up and he was struck at the color of her eyes in the amber light from the streetlamp. They appeared purple. How was that possible? She snatched the bag from him, pushing it into the folds of her coat. A great gaudy green thing with white fake fur around the collar and down the front, edging the hem. A huge black belt, shiny sparkling tights, and a pair of green curled toe boots with more fake fur on them topped off her ensemble. No, the elf hat that was atop her head now, covering the odd silvery-gold curls of her hair, topped the ensemble. 

What the fuck did I just crash into, he briefly wondered, unable to stop staring into her eyes. She smiled, a bright grin in the dank night. Gods she must have been like five foot nothing, even with those heeled boots. “I think I’m fine. Just need to go check the store where I work. I think I forgot to lock up.” She smiled again. “Thank you for catching me, the children at the refugee center would really hate to see their elf go down in the mud.”

Refugee center? Children? Christmas? Gods, he had to get out of here. He smiled tightly and nodded to the way she clutched the bag. “Just…be careful.” 

“Will do, thanks again! Happy Christmas!” 

Yeah, whatever. He ducked into an open-all night store and grabbed a box of biscuits for Ghost, an apology of sorts when he saw him, and thought on getting some beer but then remembered the whiskey in his bag. Nevermind then. He had stopped smoking when he left the Wall for the military, but the idea of a cigarette right now overwhelmed the rational part of his brain reminding him how hard it was to quit in the first place. He nodded to the wall behind the cashier and paid for a pack, stepping out and breaking it open. The lighter he always kept with him, another holdover from his time at the Wall, flickered warm in his hand as he lit the cancer stick he’d just slipped between his lips. 

Before he could inhale the smoke that had curled up from the glowing tip of the cigarette, his attention broke at the sound of a female scream. His head whipped around and he stared straight towards one of the squares where tourists tended to visit because of the little themed shops and boutiques, each one catering to a specific hobby, item, or idea. He tried to ascertain what was happening, everything moving in slow motion. 

He could see the shadow of someone fighting outside of the Christmas store located in the center of the square, a woman being grabbed by a force bigger than herself. The woman with the green coat. The elf woman. The elf woman who had been holding a bag of cash. “Fuck!” he cursed, throwing down the cigarette, forgetting his bags, and took off at a sprint down the empty street in front of him, a single-minded focus of stopping the robbery and helping the woman take over his entire brain. 

“Hey! Let go of her!” he bellowed, tackling the figure off the woman, who had fallen now to the ground. He wrestled the man, feeling a burning sensation in his stomach, and then his side, but ignored it, trying to pin the fucker to the ground. The man was taller and larger than him, but Jon was a trained fighter. Had been since fighting dirty with his brother and with teenage convicts. 

He tried to grab the wrist holding the knife he saw flashing in the man’s hand, dodging it as it almost sliced his neck open, instead catching the side of his face. Blood dripped down his cheek and he flipped over, but all it served was to give the man time to run off. The robber had stabbed himself in the attempt to get away and limped off. He wouldn’t get far, Jon vowed, but he turned quick to the woman, who was lying beside him in the muck. “Hey, hey, hey,” he called, patting her face, trying to get her beautiful eyes to stay open as he assessed any injuries, his free hand skimming over her. Oh fuck, he thought, feeling the sticky wetness on her coat. He didn’t need to look at his hand to know it was stained red. “Stay with me. Hey, look at me.”

Her eyes flickered, but the light in them was fading fast. Blood trickled from her lip and nose and the hair that had tumbled out of her silly elf hat was already caked with blood pumping out of her head, staining the silver an ugly red as it splayed out onto the cobblestone. 

His hands went to her chest, splitting open the elf costume and he stared in horror and the wounds along her breast and ribcage. Fuck they were deep, he realized. He ignored the pain in his chest where the knife had gone into him a couple times. Adrenaline kept him going. “Hey!” he screamed, seeing people looking over. “Call 999! She’s been attacked!” 

The people ran over and others began to form a circle. There weren’t many people out this late on Christmas Eve, especially with the shops closed, but a couple waiting for the bus and a late night jogger all joined. He ordered them to put pressure on her wounds, ignoring the burning in his stomach as he took off in the direction of the mugger. He followed the trail of blood around the corner and saw the guy desperately trying to climb over a fence in an alley, his leg obviously injured. “Hey!” he shouted again, taking off towards the man.

Blinding rage took over and he roared like a feral wolf, running and tackling the man.

Again, surprise took the man’s face and the knife slashed out. Jon felt it cross over his left eye as he closed it, reaching his arm up to defend himself. He punched at the guy and kicked, using all his dirty fighting tricks, but he didn’t have a weapon on him. Of all the days to not have Ghost with him. He’d gotten complacent with having the wolf serve as his protection. He always had a knife he’d gotten on his 10th birthday in his boot, but with the train travel and all that, he’d forgotten to replace it.

He felt a pain in his chest and fell backwards, a hot copper taste flooding into his nose and throat. His eyes widened as the man lunged back down with the knife and this time he watched as the blade slashed through the thin leather of his jacket and easy bypassed the flannel he wore under. He gasped, only pain in his mind, and then stared again as the knife came back down. 

He counted seven stabs before his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. When they opened, the man was gone. He continued to look. Huh. The moon was out. It was pretty, he thought, loopy. The rush of adrenaline from before disappeared. Fatigue took over. He felt the rush of blood from before fade away. Hardly a trickle. There were Christmas lights in the window above him, flashing multiple colors over his graying skin. 

Am I dying, he wondered. He tried to reach for his phone, but he oculdn’t move his limbs. Everything felt like stone. His mouth cracked open to shout but all he could do was choke on blood. There were people yelling around the corner. I hoep that woman makes it. The pretty elf who was going to a children’s refugee center on Christmas Eve. People like her deserved to survive. 

Ambulance and police sirens blared, the flashing of their lights mingling with the bright colors of Christmas ones.

I’m over here, he wanted to yell. In the back of his head he thought he could see the images of people. One looked like his Uncle Ned. I am so tired. I think I will just take a nap, he thought, letting his eyelids flutter shut.

And it all went black.


	2. for weak and for strong, for rich and the poor ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year after her attack, Dany copes as best she can (not well) and encounters a stranger who won't get out of her head.

_And so this is Christmas_  
_And what have we done_  
_Another year over_  
_A new one just begun_

**Happy Christmas (War is Over), John Lennon **

**ii. One Year Later…**  
**15 December 2020AC **

_”Fucking dragon queen bitch Dany, I can’t believe you aren’t helping me with these bills, I mean--_

Delete. Next message.

_”Answer your phone! I am your brother, I took care of you, I fucking paid for your overpriced piece of shit school--_

Delete. Next message.

_”I’m so sorry Dany, I love you, I miss you, come on it’s Christmas and I’m alone here and this nurse is crazy and-- _

Delete. 

_”Dany please! I’m losing it here, I swear I’ll get back on my meds, anything, just call—“_

Delete. End of messages.

Dany set her phone down on the bedside table, grateful she kept it on ‘Do Not Disturb’ on the rare occasions she fell down into the leaking air mattress in her hovel of an apartment for a bit of rest. Otherwise she’d never get her eyes closed with her phone blowing up all night. She lay on said leaking air mattress for a brief moment, glancing sideways to the culprit of why it had been leaking in the first place. 

The massive black and slightly reddish minx of a cat with bright yellow eyes glowered at her. He opened his jaws, revealing rows of perfect white dagger-like teeth, and yawned. Then he meowed. And began to meow more, growing in intensity. She looked at the phone, rolling her eyes at the time. “Seven hells,” she muttered, pushing into a sitting position and slung her legs over the side, crawling up to her feet. 

She was late for work, but since she padded in a good thirty minutes to account for events such as this, she was technically on time. It was better than her usually fifteen minute tardiness. As her boss was never around, she really didn’t care if she opened the store fifteen minutes late or an hour late, the people would just have to file a complaint otherwise. She yawned, cracked her back from sleeping on the horrid plastic contraption and shuffled to the bathroom.

The studio in Meereen Apartments was a nightmare, probably in violation of several hundred health and city codes, but it fit her budget of nonexistent and the landlord usually didn’t care much if she couldn’t pay on time. Or at least, she hadn’t minded in the past. 

_Before_

There was the _before_and there was the _after_. 

She peered through somewhat sleep drunk eyes or maybe regular drunk eyes at the calendar tacked to the wall by the kitchenette. Ten days until Christmas. Fucking seven hells, she cursed inwardly with a groan. It was a bloody nightmare this month. Starting after the American Thanksgiving, technically. Why did she have this job again? 

Oh yeah, because no one will hire a girl who had to drink to sleep through the night and sometimes broke into wheezing fits for no reason. She rubbed her chest, just beneath her left breast at the thought of one of the terrifying fits. Just don’t work yourself into one Dany, she chided, closing her eyes and gripping the edge of the sink. Deep breaths…deep breaths…deep….

“Daenerys Targaryen! Open this door! You are a week late on rent and I have had it!”

Uh-oh. Sounded like the once generous landlady was no longer so generous. She rolled her eyes, pushing from the sink and stalked to the door, not bothering to gussy her jagged crop of silver-gold hair or put on a pair of real pants atop the tiny flannel boy-shorts she’d tugged on last night after stumbling home around two in the morning from a night of debauchery at the local pub. Well, she hoped it was debauchery.

Although flickers of the night were starting to creep in and her hand hurt. She would take a look at it later, instead opening the door and leaning on the jamb, glaring at the landlady. Her purple eyes were ringed like a raccoon, she noticed in the mirror across the hall. Smudged mascara and the preferred blue and purple eyeshadow she used to make her irises pop. “Yes Mrs. Loraq?” she demanded.

The woman scowled, meaty hands on her equally meaty hips. A complete sterotype of her profession, Dany thought briefly. “Get. Out! You’re evicted! I’m done with this nonsense!”

“What would that be?” 

“Never paying the rent, shutting off your water and electric, your drunken stumblings that wake the neighbors, and…” The woman shrieked, pointing at a suddenly hissing Drogon. “And no pets! Get that creature out here!”

“He’s not a creature,” she mumbled. 

“Well he isn’t a cat!”

More like a dragon, she figured, glancing at the way Drogon’s hair stood on end and frilled about his face when he hissed. She glared at Mrs. Loraq, the evil landy from the seven hells, suddenly serious. No more kidding. “Are you crazy? It’s winter, it’s practically Christmas!”

“Since when have you cared about the holidays?” 

A very long time ago, she didn’t say, and pushed out of her mind. She gripped the door as the landlady tried to fight her way into the cramped little shithole. An eyebrow arched. “What if I go to the papers about how you employ poor indentured refugees? Or better yet, you would throw out people on their backs at Christmastime! Just like Charles Dickens!”

The woman glared. “That was Scrooge who threw people out and go the papers, I don’t care, and no one will believe a crazy drunk with silver hair! Demon!” She slapped the paper onto the chipped painted door, huffing and storming off. At the base of the stairs, she turned, jabbing her finger down the hall. “Get out or I’m calling the police!”

Fuck, she cursed, pushing to stand in the hall. “It’s not my fault!” she yelled. Not sure what exactly she was referring to not being her fault, but nothing was. None of this was her fault. It was…it was that guy’s fault. Immediately her mind shut down the memory, tucking it back inside the dark place from where it had tried to escape.

The landlady turned, shaking her head and shouting back. “It never is your fault, is it Miss Targaryen?”

What was that supposed to mean? She growled, like the dragon her brother always referred to himself as in his manic episodes, and slammed the door. A piece of the drywall fell off from beside the frame, crumbling like snow to the floor. She stared at the little pile of wall for a moment, trying to come back into her body. To calm herself the way she always tried and never seemed to be able to do. 

She glanced around the tiny space and shook her head, gathering up what few clothes she had, shoved them into her suitcase, and put on her work outfit, throwing a big blood red faux fur coat she’d gotten at a random stall on Portobello Road. Back when she actually cared about things like cute clothes and thrift store shopping. She tried not to think about what this meant, gathering Drogon into his crate and apologizing profusely for not getting him his food, because they had to go somewhere else. She’d just shove him in the manager’s office at the store when she got there and hope he didn’t destroy it in his ire.

Hot tears began to well behind her eyes, but she ignored them, tugging her coat around her as she dragged her suitcase and her cat with her down the tiny stairs, shouted a good “Happy Christmas!” to the landlady who had screwed her over for the last time, and stomped out, the ridiculous platforms on the bottoms of her elf shoes heavy on her feet. 

It was cold and damp, typical London, but Kings Landing, the neighborhood where she lived, always felt a little warmer. Maybe because it was full of people, some of the oddest characters around, which was why she liked it. A million years ago her family had begun developing it into a decent neighborhood, designing it for fancy homes and stores. It had thrived until her stupid mad father had screwed over everything, decided to burn half of the empty buildings for insurance money, and then tried to attack one of his employees, who defended himself with a letter opener. Aerys Targaryen was no more and neither were her family’s companies. 

She shushed Drogon, who was yowling in his carrier as though his arm were being gnawed off. “I’ll feed you at work,” she cooed to him. She paused at a street corner, glancing up at one of the large buildings that used to belong to her family. There was a tacky ticker tape style digital sign out front, reminding everyone about the latest developments in the news but also reminding them that this year the holiday season was brought to you by “The Lannister Corporation.” “Where we always pay our debts,” she mumbled in irritation, scowling at the constant reminder of the people who took her family to ruin. As if to dig in further, the image flashed of the happy Lannister family, minus one. She rolled her eyes.

A long time ago she welcomed the fact that her family had nothing and she was no longer tied to their legacy and need to have to go into that world, was okay with it even, and had made her peace. Now though, standing there in a ridiculous elf costume for her ridiculous dead-end job that last year was just a way to give back to the people and now was her only means of paying bills this time of year, holding all she had in the world, cold and wet and pissed with no home to speak of, Daenerys Targaryen wished she could take down everyone who had wronged her, with fire and blood, just like her family claimed they had with all their enemies in the past. 

Of course, that could be the long history of mental illness. The various forms of which she feared had finally gotten to her each time she woke up and had a paranoid thought. When she walked down the street and thought people were following her. Avoiding dark places and staying out too late in case someone lurked in the shadows to kill her. In her case it may have been justified, said the therapist she had seen, but she thought it was more in line with the fact that her family had more than enough of borderline personality disorder and all other types of mental illnesses they tended to ignore.

She glanced both ways and prepared to cross the street, but Drogon began to lose his shit, flying about the carrier in hissing and scratching. “What?” she demanded, stepping back onto the pavement and studying his expression. She scowled. “You are just going to have to deal. I’m not in the mood to handle you now.”

“Guess he doesn’t like dogs.”

She turned to look over her shoulder at the voice, assuming it was directed at her cat, and took in the sight of a massive snow-white dog…wolf like thing…or was it a bear? It had bright red eyes and peered silently up at her from where he was sitting at the corner beside his owner. Just a ball of fluff, his tail curled around in front resembling a giant feather boa. The mane of white fur around his neck hid any sort of collar or identification tags. From the dog thing, her eyes lifted to the owner. Not bad, she thought, taking in the unruly mess of black curls around the man’s pale thin face, a scruffy beard and the most delicious whiskey-colored eyes. She smirked. “That’s not a dog that’s a wolf.”

“And that’s not a cat, it’s more like a dragon. Is he breathing fire in there?”

Drogon hissed and spit. “Would if he could.” She gathered Drogon back up. “I better get him away from your wolf.”

The man flashed a quick smile, but it didn’t meet his eyes. Looked almost like he wasn’t sure how to smile. Dany didn’t care. She was hungover, cold, wet, and homeless. This was shaping to be a fucking wonderful day. He said nothing as she muscled Drogon and her bag, which splashed down into the muck of the gutter. “Um…need help?” he offered, taking a step towards her. 

She seized up immediately and shook her head quick. “No,” she bit out. She gathered her things, ignored the muck that had splashed onto her tights, and hurried away from him without another word. She got to the other side of the street, stealing a quick glance to see if he had followed her, but he was still standing there, watching her curiously, that white wolf thing beside him. She ignored the back of her neck, the hair at attention, and gathered herself again, making her way as quick as she could with all her baggage to the store. 

That was strange. It was like she had met him before. What did the French call it? _déjà vu._ That’s what it was like. It was nothing, just her pounding headache, scratchy eyes, and intense need to get to work in case any other strange men decided to talk or follow or otherwise bother her. She felt a cold sweat bead at the base of her neck and her throat constricted. It was the middle of the morning, not night. She was on a crowded street and not an empty square. It is okay Dany, it is okay, she told herself, taking a few deep breaths. 

Until he was right by her again. She jumped, startled but said nothing. He squinted and studied her for a moment. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped. Embarrassed, she gathered her things again, shooting a look at the dog and then back to his eyes. They were so pretty. He was so pretty. What is wrong with you, she screamed inwardly; get to work Dany! She mumbled a goodbye, not looking at the pretty man with his pretty dog, and stumbled through the next crosswalk. This time she didn’t look back. 

Who was that guy and why was she suddenly so bothered? It was just this morning. It was everything. Her dirty hair, smudged makeup, eviction…it was a weird morning. Now she got to spend her day dealing with cheery customers, pretending like she cared about their holiday plans, and wondering now where she would be sleeping that evening. 

A few minutes later she stopped in front of the front door of her job, staring at the cute quaint little almost gingerbread like old building. It had been one of the oldest buildings her family acquired and it had been her older brother’s idea to make it a holiday store. He just figured it looked like it. She’d been working there since she was a teenager, using it to help her earn extra pocket money and all that…and then everything went to shit. 

She sighed, studying the sign above, curly script writing broadcasting that the cute little timber building was “Red Keep’s Christmas Shoppe.” Rhaegar had thought it would be fun to name it after the medieval name of their family’s old estate, since it was an old building. Her heart clenched at the thought of her big brother. She sighed, stepping up and pushing open the door with its beveled window and walked into her daily nightmare.

It was like Christmas vomited all over the space. Rooms filled with themed ornaments, garlands, trees, and all manner of fat snowmen and Father Christmas. Sparkles, twinkles, and shiny objects hung all through the store, enough to give someone a seizure as they blinked and gleamed, encouraged by the hundreds of various types of lights and lit-up displays. Dany walked around the large counter where she spent most of her day, stowing her suitcase beneath where it would likely butt against her knee all day, but at least it didn’t require her to go upstairs where she might run into…

“What the seven hells is that thing doing here?”

She steeled her shoulders and her jaw tightened. “It’s just for today.”

Cersei Lannister, the oldest of Tywin Lannister and the corporate raider who had stolen her family’s company from under them, glided down the staircase from the second floor, where the main office also happened to be located. She was wearing an old-fashioned medieval style dress with big bell sleeves and brocade patterning along the skirt, an almost metal like belt wrapped around her thin waist. Her long blonde hair, which Dany considered the only nice feature of the woman, was coiled in a strange knot at the base of her head. She scowled deeply, jabbing her phone, clutched in her lion claw like nails, towards Drogon’s carrier. “No pets! I hate cats.”

You hate anyone that could take attention from you, Dany thought, rolling her eyes as she took Drogon and set him down on the floor. She would go across the street to the fish and chips stall in a moment to get him something, maybe convince the nice man Davos who owned it to open early just for her and her poor homeless cat. “It’s just for today, I got evicted.”

“Oh shock.” Cersei tapped on her phone, still scowling, her dark brows pinched together. “Look I don’t want to be here any more than you do, but Father wants me to see if this place is worth keeping so here I am.”

Worth keeping!? Dany whipped her head around, her bright eyes widening. “What? Why wouldn’t you keep it?”

“Because darling, a year-round Christmas store is just a losing money game,” Cersei drawled, smiling at something on her phone. She lifted her eyes, realized she was smiling, and immediately scowled again. “Get to work and get rid of that cat by the end of the day.”

The wreath on the front door jangled, bells tinkling above the door as someone entered, already getting a start on their day. “Good morning!” the older woman called and immediately busied herself with looking at the pile of needlepoint stockings at the front display. 

She rolled her eyes, walking over and flicking the sign back on the store window to announce they were open, and stared out at the square, people moving back and forth. Some were smiling and laughing, others on their phones, and others dealing with family members or chatting with friends. It was so fucking quaint that Dany wanted to vomit. They’re all lying to themselves, she thought darkly. She felt her chest tighten and reached her fingertips up to rub idly above her left breast. The hitch in her throat forced her to swallow hard. 

Not now, not now, not now, she chanted, eyes fluttering shut. The wheezing feeling in her chest began to fade, subsiding as she worked on the calming motions. She opened her eyes slowly, gazing through the fake frosted glass window back to the square. The doctor told her it was going to be hard for her this year. To not be where the attack happened unless she was prepared, unless she could handle it, as it might be too much. 

I don’t have anywhere else to go, she thought to herself, ignoring the therapist’s instructions. She frowned, seeing the great white wolf animal from earlier across the way. There was a huge Christmas tree lot set up and the wolf was just sitting by the entrance, almost a prop. Maybe that guy worked there. She didn’t see him. The prickling feeling on the back of her neck returned. No one is out to get you, she reminded herself. 

In her pocket, her phone buzzed. She reached in, glancing at the message. _Want to get dinner tonight??? Grey is busy with work. Need some bestie time! _ She smiled briefly and tapped back a response. _More than dinner? Can I crash with you? Drogon got us in trouble. _

It didn’t take but a second after she sent the text for the response. _Evicted? You can stay, but Dany, come on! We will talk later. _ The disappointment in her best friend Missandei’s voice was palpable, the text message dripping with it. Dany hated feeling like the disappointment, especially knowing that Missandei would likely prefer to spend her evenings for the foreseeable future with her fiancé Grey and not her messed up best friend and best friend’s crazy cat. 

She stared out the window for another moment. Until the clunk of something against the back of her head, forcing her forward and the stupid elf hat over her eyes jarring her back into reality. She turned slowly, gaping at Cersei, who had hurled an ornament at her to catch her attention rather than simply call her name. “What?” she hissed.

“Back to work,” Cersei said with a smirk, sweeping around to go back upstairs and not do anything. “Or I’ll fire you like we should have last year.”

The fire rose inside of her. If she could burn Cersei she would. She clenched her fist and stalked to the counter, ignoring Drogon’s yowls and the curious questioning of the woman who simply wanted to buy a new Father Christmas figurine at how come there was a cat under the counter. 

Once the woman left, allowing more people into the store, she looked up when a rather comely fellow entered, his hair buzzed slightly and wearing a dirty hoodie and oil smudged jeans. She felt her stomach flip a little and cleared her throat when he beelined towards her. “Can I help you?” she droned. 

“You sell Christmas things right?” 

Seriously? Keeping her face straight, she arched an eyebrow. “Sorry, we only sell Halloween decorations.” 

The guy waited a beat and then smiled, pointing towards her. “That was a joke.”

“Obviously.” No, it was sarcasm, but whatever. She sighed again, irritated. “Can I help you?” 

He clapped his hands together. “Um, yeah so I…I’m not good at this thing, but my girlfriend…well…she had a shitty Christmas last year and I’m trying to find stuff to I don’t know, brighten up the apartment…can you help me pick some things out? I don’t know anything about what girls like and to be fair…Arya kind of isn’t like most girls.”

That was a nice name, she thought idly, as someone with an unusual name. She sighed hard, her shoulder slumping and her eyebrows lifting, really not caring about this Arya and her shitty Christmas. “Well mine was shitty last year too, guess it’s a thing.”

He glanced at her nametag and smiled again. “Dany, that’s a nice name. I’m Gendry.”

“Hi Gendry. Here.” He was so earnest, she might as well pretend to care. She walked over to a display that was mostly rustic decorations, not the fake all white and silver and gold crap that some people, namely Cersei and her family, preferred. “This stuff isn’t very girly. I’ll be over there if you need more.” She walked back to the counter, catching Cersei’s glare from the balcony above. 

“Be nice,” Cersei hissed.

That was a statement, coming from the Queen of Bitch. She planted her hands on her hips. “What else did you do to end up here?”

“Tyrion was looking out for you.” 

She turned at the smooth as silk voice, seeing Cersei’s twin brother arrive. Jaime Lannister should have been her number one enemy, seeing as he was the employee who ended up stabbing her father with a letter opener when Aerys attacked him, but she didn’t begrudge someone from defending themselves. It was more than she had done, she thought darkly. At the mention of their little brother’s name, she grew suspicious. “Why?”

“Well you know after last year, he just wanted someone to keep an eye out,” Jaime explained, with a flash of pearly whites. He couldn’t charm her and besides, Cersei got irritated when he tried to be nice to anyone but her. They had a creepy relationship. He rolled her eyes. “And Father obviously is looking to see about the store and offloading the property. Sorry Dany.”

Leave it to Jaime to just give it to her straight. She sighed, shaking her head. This was shaping to be a shitty Christmas like last year too. She nodded towards the duffel bag hanging off his shoulder. “What are you doing here then? I thought you hated the family business.”

“I do, but Cersei needed a Father Christmas for the kids later.”

“And it will be you?” She snorted. If Father Christmas looked like the Prince Charming character from that Shrek movie, then yes, Jaime could be Father Christmas. She swiped a box of replacement light bulbs from the edge of the counter. “Sure, whatever Cersei wants.”

The Gendry guy walked back over, holding a bunch of stuff in his arms. He dropped it onto the counter with a clatter. “I think I’m done. Think she’ll like this stuff?” 

“How would I know?” She began to ring him up, but before she knew what was happening, Gendry had shoved his phone under her nose and she was staring at a scowling young woman with dark hair and gray eyes, holding an epee and wearing a fencing costume. She lifted her gaze to his. “This her?” 

“Yeah. Just so you get an idea of the type of person I’m trying to impress.”

It didn’t look like anything would impress the woman in the photo. There was an odd tingle in her heart again. That _déjà vu_ feeling like from before. The stony gray eyes staring up from the phone screen looked so familiar. She wasn’t sure where she had seen them before or why she even thought she had. She swallowed down the lump forming in her throat. “She’s pretty. I’m sure she’ll like this stuff.”

“I hope so.” 

It must be nice to have a boyfriend who cared so much, she thought, glancing down at Drogon, who had been the only thing warming her bed for a long time. She shook away the weird feeling of seeing the woman’s photo and bagged up the decorations, took Gendry’s credit card, swiped, and said have a happy Christmas while at the same time genuinely not caring. He grinned and thanked her, hurrying out of the store. 

She sighed, leaning back on the wall behind her, glancing down at Drogon, who meowed pitifully in his crate. “I know, I’m sorry,” she murmured, crossing her arms over her chest. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, but ended up coughing at the pressure in her chest and the wheeze in her throat. Fuck! She could barely even try to calm herself without a reminder of what she was calming herself about. 

“Excuse me? Ma’am? Can you help me with this?” Dany turend in time to see a Christmas tree display fall on a guy who had been trying to pluck thes tar from the top. Cersei screeched for her to get back to work and stop daydreaming. 

Father Fucking Christmas get me out of here, she thought, rolling her eyes and going to rescue the moronic customer.

~/~/~/~

The constant sound of trains around the base of the trees, an annoying Frosty the Snowman figure that danced and sang the song, and the ever present bells on the front door had given Dany a migraine by the time closing time was approaching. She also had had to finally stow Drogon in the office upstairs, which chased Cersei out and made her life hell as the witch swept from corner to corner, and proceeded to count up the receipts right in front of her, all but accusing her of stealing.

I would never steal, she thought for only the millionth time that day, but the Lannisters might. It was kind of their thing. She looked up at the bell on the door, her heart dropping into her stomach and her palms sweating when she saw who had just walked in. She immediately pushed from the counter and went to him, grabbing his arm tight and dug in her nails, painted a bright red for the blood she might get on her when she killed him, and moved to push him back onto the street. “Dany come on!” her older brother exclaimed, his hands grabbing at her elbows to stop her. 

“Get out of here,” she hissed. The phone calls aside, she hadn’t seen him in weeks, and planned to keep it that way. Viserys must have been desperate if he had actually dragged himself from their family’s decrepit estate out near Oxford and come to find her. Not like she had much left to give to him anyway. 

They often were mistaken for twins, but only because both of them were probably the most pathetic of the family, having to deal with all the tragedy and the constant disappointments in their family. Viserys glared at her, his lilac eyes lighter than her lavender ones. His silver-gold hair was pulled back into a ponytail and strands of it fell over his forehead, which was crinkled in a deep scowl. “You aren’t answering my calls what was I supposed to do?” he spit.

“Take a fucking hint I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Oh hello there Viserys!” 

Great, just what I need, she thought with a groan, her hand on her brother’s chest to push him back as Cersei glided over. The blonde smiled and offered her hand to him. “So good to see you out and about. Dragonstone really is so drafty and old, have you finally replaced the roof?”

A nice little dig at their family’s living situation. The roof hadn’t been replaced in decades. Viserys didn’t get it. He just glared at Cersei. He hated her. “You finally get your roots done?” he studied her blonde hair. “Nope. Still looks like a fucking wig.”

Cersei’s upper lip curled in a snarl. “You know I had a crush on your big brother. Shame what happened.”

Now it was turn for both of them to growl at her. “Fuck off Cersei,” Dany muttered. This was just going from bad to worse. 

Especially when Viserys smiled politely. “You know talking about my big brother isn’t going to get you into my pants. Besides, doesn’t Jaime already do that for you?”

Whoa, good one, Dany found herself thinking, just in time for Cersei to let out a high-pitched squeal, her scream no doubt catching in her throat as there were customers still milling around. She smiled when the other woman stormed away, but not for long, the smile immediately flipping to a frown when Viserys smiled down at her, his eyes slightly glassy. He was probably on something. “Go away,” she whispered. “This is my job.”

“Since when have you cared? Come on Dany, stop ignoring me.”

“How did you get here?”

“I took a car, how do you think I got here?” He brushed imaginary lint off the sleeve of his Burberry trench coat, which she knew he’d had for longer than he would care to admit. Their money couldn’t go to fancy clothes anymore. It was just going to try to keep their family home from crumbling to dust. And her medical bills. And his medical bills…

We’re such a fucking mess.

She shook her head, unable to handle Viserys right now, no matter his mood. She swallowed hard, remembering what Cersei had said. Was he here for that? “Did you know they may sell this place?” She looked up, pleading with whatever was left of the brother she knew as a child. The one who cared. Or at least, pretended to care. “They’re going to get rid of Rhaegar’s first building!”

He squinted and she knew in her heart that she was right. He didn’t care. “So? It’s an old building Dany. It’s falling apart and Rhaegar’s dead.”

“I know he’s dead!” She just wished he wasn’t. Wished she had the big brother she used to have. The one who was like her father. The one who loved them both. Now all she had was Viserys. He was picking again at the edge of his sleeve. One of his various tics. She closed her eyes. At least he wasn’t flying around in a rage or trying to get her to come with him to a faraway land that was only in his head. She pushed him towards the door again. This was over. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

“Is this about what I said on the phone? I’m sorry!”

“I can’t deal with you,” she said. She ignored the tears in her eyes. She sniffed and shook her head, turning and leaving him standing by the door, unsure what all he wanted. She went upstairs and ducked into the office, closing and locking the door behind her. The panic attack was starting again. It came up fast and hard, like a tidal wave battering a beach. She gripped the edge of the desk and her eyes shut so hard she saw stars. Pressure built in her chest. Her lungs strained for breath. Her heart pounded in her ears. The scar under her breast burned like fire. 

The store, the Lannisters, Viserys, the eviction…

The cute guy with the big wolf. 

What? 

The thought of the stranger from earlier popped into her head. The way his smile did not quite meet his eyes. The way the faint lines in the corners of his eyes crinkled. The lovely husky timbre of his voice, tinged with an accent she did not quite recognize. The whiskey color of his eyes that seemed to also look like the color of storm clouds in the bright sunlight.

What was she even doing? He was a perfect stranger. Could be a murderer for all she knew. A killer. The scar on her chest ached. The aching began to fade, her breath steadying. The attack faded and left her exhausted. Left her hurting. She blinked through tears. She couldn’t go back downstairs and deal with Viserys right now. He was just one more problem she couldn’t handle in between everything else. 

How to get out though? Her eyes glanced at the window and the eaves just beneath. She didn’t think and pushed it open, climbing out and ignoring the fact that she was wearing elf boots instead of anything more practical. Practical!? Her inner voice laughed maniacally. You’re climbing down a roof Dany! There is no practical there! She clambered over the windowsill, hissing at the sudden cold on her face. The sun had gone down earlier and the only light came from the street lamps behind the store and the dim glow from the square. She moved down the eave and then hopped from the edge down onto a set of trashcans, yelping at the sound of the tins clattering from her boot heels. 

So much for stealth she thought, dusting dirty snow off her bottom and drying her hands on the sides of her skirt. She ducked down the alley and around the edge, not quite sure just where she was supposed to be going. She ran around the side of the building, only to crash into something solid and warm. “Whoa!” 

The solid and warm wall had hands, which grabbed at her and kept her from falling in the sleet. She looked up, tossing silver-gold hair out of her eyes. Somehow the elf hat stayed on. She blinked and could not believe just what she was staring into. Whiskey brown eyes that seemed to resemble storm clouds. What the fuck? She gasped, her mouth dropping open. “You!” 

The man from earlier, from the corner, and with the great white wolf dog smiled and she noted the crinkle in his eyes. Damnit Dany, get with it! “You, the elf woman.” He smiled again, long and slow. “With the dragon cat.” He looked up, eyeing the store. “Did you just rob this place?”

“No!”

“Well you did just jump out of the window.”

She turned her head, just in time to see Viserys step out of the store, looking around. Damnit! She shook her head again. “Just avoiding my brother.” It was wrong of her. Viserys no doubt needed her, but he always needed her. She was so tired. She just couldn’t deal right now. Guilt gnawed in her stomach. Viserys turned again and she yelped, grabbing the neck of the man in front of her, using it to pivot around so he was in front of her, blocking her from anyone’s gaze. She peered around his broad shoulder, watching as Viserys gave up on looking around, threw his hands to the side, and stalked off to a black town car, which was idling on the street. It irritated her to no end that he couldn’t just drive, but Viserys always said _There are those who drive and those who are driven, I am driven._ So he would waste precious money for his own ego.

“Are you done?”

She lifted her head up, looking back into the stranger’s beautiful eyes. She realized then that her hand was still on his neck and her other had migrated to his elbow. She let go instantly, flushing in embarrassment. “Yes,” she murmured. She became acutely aware how close she was. He smelled nice. Like pine needles and snow and a fireplace. Her breath hitched in her throat. Pain hit her chest. 

Oh, she thought, grabbing at her side. The man immediately frowned. “Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?”

“Um, no,” she mumbled. It was nothing. Sometimes it was just the scar tissue. She stepped away from him, thinking the best thing to do right now was put distance between this stranger and herself. “Bye.”

“You know a thanks would be nice for hiding you.”

She walked back to the store, arms around her body, and smirked over her shoulder. “Thanks!” Why did he care if she thanked him or not and why did she care about saying it? She wouldn’t see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the reviews, I'm goign to try to comment on every one. This is going early because I'm goign to be out of town and likely won't have time to write the next one for a while. Probably won't update again for a few more weeks. I also got bit by a fluffy fic bug and want to do something related to Halloween with Targlings. Still musing on that one.
> 
> Next time: Dany tries to shrug off her best friend Missy's concerns; Dany officially meets the handsome stranger popping up in her life.


	3. the fireplace keeps burning and my thoughts keep turning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany bumps into handsome stranger and learns his name.

_the sweetest gift I know would be if the new snow_

_could fall on your footsteps on this Christmas Eve_

_the most joyous Christmas if luck could be with us_

_would be if Saint Nicholas brought you home to me_

**Dolly Parton; Christmas Without You**

**iii.**

**16 December 2019AC**

“What’s this?” Dany asked, picking up a thick binder that was sitting on the edge of the countertop. She did not wait for Jaime to answer, flicking it open and staring at the elaborate letterhead at the top of the page. She glared across the countertop at him. “Baelish? You had Baelish come and look at the property? When did this happen? Why wasn’t I notified?”

Jaime took the binder from her, shoving it under the counter and waving his hand carelessly. “Oh you were out getting coffee or something.”

It had to be when she’d run out of the store earlier that day to meet with Missy, who had threatened to call one of Rhaegar’s friends and Dany’s former security officer-slash-nanny-slash-driver Jorah Mormont on her if she didn’t at least pretend to show up to the doctor’s office. So she’d left earlier, gone to the hospital, turned right around once she signed in, and left. Missy didn’t have to know that she never really went into the office itself. 

She didn’t want Jorah to bother with the mess her life had become. If he got involved everything would go to hell. He’d try to make her quit, he’d get involved with Viserys…it was just too much. Best to avoid dealing with her Old Bear, for her own sanity of course. 

And of course the Lannister twins had Petyr Baelish show up to do the survey of the property. Baelish was a snake, knew all and saw all, and as the go-to financial…whatever he was, for the Lannister Corporation, Dany knew that he had left no stone unturned and he certainly would try to milk as much from the property as he could. She wondered briefly if she could buy it. This was Rhaegar’s first building! It was…it was important, she thought sadly, allowing herself a moment of pity for a stupid building. 

Her fingers played with a stray bit of tinsel, twisting and untwisting it nervously around her finger. She swallowed hard, thinking of the trust she had somewhere in a bank…funds dwindling month by month. Not even enough for her to try to take out to find a place to live. She did not meet Jaime’s eyes, mumbling. “How much would this place sell for…what did Baelish estimate?”

The number Jaime told her almost had her sick to her stomach. It was more than anything she could have thought of. Of course it was. Rhaegar wasn’t a fool. The building was historical. It was on a good tract of land in an expensive part of London, surrounded by shops and restaurants and…and it was so far beyond what she could have imagined paying. It wasn’t even like it was possible, she just wanted to think maybe…just maybe. 

The world didn’t work like that though. There’d be no rich…whatever flying down to save her from the evil clutches of a lion. Or lions, she thought, glancing at Jaime’s apologetic gaze. At least he was sorry for it. Cersei no doubt would delight in making her miserable about losing Rhaegar’s legacy. She took a deep breath, blowing it out hard. “Forget it then.”

“Forget what?” They both looked up as Cersei descended, wearing an ugly fur coat and tugging on her gloves. She idly threw a command over her shoulder, waving her hand for Jaime to follow. “Lock up.” 

Of course I was going to do that, Dany thought darkly. She made a face at the closed door, throwing a plastic candy cane at the sign clinking against the glass. She sighed, slumping back against the counter, her elbows banging against the old wood. Not even bothering to clean up—did it really matter any more—she flicked off most of the lights, but left on the hundreds of Christmas trees. There was something rather magical about it. She went upstairs, locked up the money from the till for deposit in the morning, and shut down the computer. Locked up the office. 

The motions of locking up came familiar to her. It was a process and one she could do without really thinking. She liked the store when there was no one in it and when it was just her. Rhaegar used to sit and just stare at all the Chrsitmas trees. They always had a big fancy one in their home and he would say that he just wanted a little tree with the ornaments they had made in art classes over the years. Even the disturbing ones that Viserys had made as a child that had gotten Rhaegar called to the office more than once. 

Dany allowed herself a moment of peace. Something she rarely ever did. It didn’t seem to matter these days. She stood at the top of the stairs, scanning the space below. A long time ago she had asked him if they could change it from a Christmas tore to something different. To a place for kids. For the ones who needed a place to go. He said of course. Then he died. Then it all fell apart and the Meraxes Vhagar Corporation was no more. 

The ache in her chest brought her out of her memories. Out of her wallowing, more like. She pushed to her feet and threw on her ridiculous red coat. She pulled off her stupid platform elf shoes and shoved her feet into an old pair of Army boots instead, enjoying the feel of her feet on the ground. It made her feel solid. Theyw ere easier to run in as well, should that be necessary. She swallowed hard again, her throat dry. Nighttime was the worst time but she was smarter than she was before. She left the store, locked it, and as part of her comforting ritual, she checked the lock three times before she turned, huddled in her coat, and allowed her violet eyes to sweep the square. 

It was practically midnight, but there were still many people out and about. Pubs were still open, as was the Christmas festival that spread through the square. Twinkle lights and the smell of hot chocolate and glugwein make her head spin a bit. Reminded her she hadn’t eaten much that day. She pondered going through and grabbing something to take back to Missy’s place, but she honestly did not feel like going back just yet. 

Her best friend hadn’t pressed her the night before, knowing she was tired, other than to threaten her with Jorah. She wrapped her arms around herself, even though it wasn’t that cold, and judging it somewhat safe, she stepped out onto the square and decided to just go back to the apartment. Get inside with Drogon, hide under the covers, and drink a half bottle of wine to help her fall asleep. Maybe some milk-of-the-poppy tabs for good measure. 

The Christmas village did call to her, so she chose to cut through it and then make her way the several million blocks to Missy’s cramped flat. She kept her head down, not making eye contact with anyone, and did not even know where she was walking until she felt her shoulder give, crashing hard into someone who was leaning over a motorcycle, securing something to the back of it. 

She spun quickly, thankful for her boots keeping her to the ground because the platforms would have certainly had her on her ass. Eyes wide, she glared at the pair of gray eyes peering at her from beneath a fringe of dark curls. She scowled, opening her mouth and prepared to berate the person for standing her way—even if she was the one not paying attention—except she realized who it was a moment before even he seemed to. 

“You!”

The man glanced her up and down in a way that gave her goosebumps. She tugged her coat together around her, preparing to flee if necessary but an otherworldly force kept her rooted in place. “Me?” he questioned.

Dany squinted, glancing back through the Christmas village to the darkened storefront. He had only been around the store. Around her. She felt her stomach flip. The creeping dread in the base of her spine, making its way up vertebrae by vertebrae. Her toes rose up on the cobblestone, preparing to take off at a moment’s notice. Fly! Fly! Fly away, like a dragon, the little voice in the back of her mind screamed. It was not safe, strange men lurking around her were not safe, especially strange men with gray eyes, dark hair, and…fuck he had a motorcycle. 

Once upon a time ago Dany knew a man who had a motorcycle. She’d taken off with him on it to parts unknown. In actuality it had been Dubai, where he raced horses and bred them for rich oil tycoons and sheikhs. It had been an absolute disaster and she had come trudging back home, dirty and tired and vowing never to just take off with someone again. All it did was end in heartbreak. Everything ended in heartbreak. 

Especially dark and broody guys.

She felt a muscle tick in her jaw. “Are you following me?” she demanded.

“Following you?” he laughed. He gestured towards the store behind him. “Do you recall yesterday when you all but assaulted me? I should ask if _you_ are following _me_?” 

“I…” She closed her mouth with a snap. Her nostrils flared and pushed together to a point. “Never mind.”

“Are you always dressed as an elf?”

Every cell in her brain was firing at her with the signal to leave. Turn around, stomp off, and go home. Except there was just one cell that said something different. Kept her there and had her flashing a smirk. “Well it is a new fashion statement, haven’t you heard? Elf chic?” She glared at him, trying to find something in his all black appearance that she could critique. She gestured with a wave of her wrist. “And you…are you…” 

Gods, she had never been this tongue-tied. He smiled again, like he knew he had gotten to her. He offered his hand. “Jon.”

Jon. It was a simple name. She looked at his hand for a moment. Wide palm. Callused fingers. He glanced at her with a quirked brow, probably wondering why she was being so damn rude. She really didn’t care. Except she grabbed it quickly, darting her eyes away from his. “Dany.”

“Dany,” he repeated.

She didn’t like how it sounded when he said it. It was a childhood nickname. Except only Viserys really used it. It used to be cute, playful when it came from Rhaegar. When it came from Viserys it was usually said with an upturned sneer of his lip. Almost a curse. Almost always said after “Godsdamnit” or “You’re such a mess.” Like he was one to talk. She forced thoughts of her wayward brother from her mind, trying to focus on how this one said it. 

It sounded like a melody. The burr in his voice emphasized the ‘a’ a bit more. _“Daaaaahhhnnyy.”_ Her skin pimpled with gooseflesh and the hair on the back of her neck went up at the sound. Gods, what was wrong with her? She smiled tightly. “Yes.”

“That short for something? Danielle?”

Her eyes lifted again; he was genuinely inquisitive. No one ever asked her about her name like that. She smiled briefly. “Daenerys.” 

“Wow that’s…” He fumbled a bit. For a moment, she had honestly thought he was smooth with women, but then she saw him trying to find words. He ducked his head a little and dare she say, in the dim lamplights, he appeared to almost blush. Funny, for a man who she had all but attacked yesterday when she’d run out of the store. He came up with a word. Stuck with it. “Pretty.”

She drew back. “Um…thanks.” No one said ‘pretty.’ It was usually ‘that’s weird’ or ‘your parents must have been hippies.’ 

He pointed to her getup. Fumbled. “You’re an…an elf. Again.”

“Yes, you already commented on my festive holiday attire,” she replied. Amused. Gods was he actually amusing her? Was she actually entertaining this strange little flirtation they had going? It was their third interaction, she supposed, they may as well do something about it. She pointed to his all black getup, finally thinking of something to say about it, when before she’d been tongue-tied. “And are you supposed to be, what? The Ghost of Christmas Future, here to take me to a cemetery and warn me of my sins?”

His dark brows lifted. “That was dark.”

“Well these are dark times, as I said.”

“My sister says I dress in black because I have a black soul.”

She smirked. “Probably shouldn’t say that to women you meet on the street.”

“Something tells me you aren’t put off by that,” he volleyed back. She must have been bringing it out in him, even he seemed surprised by his retort. He shrugged. “I work in security sort of.” It was nonchalant. She supposed there was more there, but she didn’t much care. He squinted. “You’re pretty dark for a person who is supposed to spread holiday cheer.”

“Well Christmas isn’t my thing.”

“You work in a Christmas store. Ironically?”

She found herself smiling, entertaining the idea of sticking around just to shoot barbs back and forth with this handsome, awkward yet somehow endearing stranger. He turned to check something on the bike and she found herself checking out his ass. Gods that was a good ass. She hadn’t seen one like that in some time. Seven hells, almost never she supposed. Drogo had an okay one from sitting on horses all day, Daario got his from spending his entire life in a gym, but this one…she almost whistled. Had to come from actually doing something all day or working on a farm or something…she licked her lips. 

And caught him looking at her again. “What?” she demanded.

“Ah…nothing.” He smiled briefly. Did he know what she was doing? Gods, she hoped not. She was behaving like a girl in school with the hot jock flirting with her. What was wrong with her tonight? So many things, an inner voice laughed. He gestured to the hot chocolate stand nearby. “Can I get you something to keep you warm on your walk home? If you won’t let me take you home otherwise?”

This man really wanted to buy her a cup of hot chocolate, when he ahd said something that most other men probably would have used as a cheesy hookup line before offering to be the thing keeping her warm. Points for him that he was oblivious, she figured. She shook her head, pinching her coat together again at her throat. “No, I’m fine I should…” She did not like the warmth in his eyes. The way the dark brown eyes resembled the same color of the hot chocolate being served behind them. Or the way they kind of lit up like the logs of a fire. Or warm whiskey…gods she had to go. She shook her head quickly. “No thank you. Good night…Jon.” 

That was hopefully the last time hse would see him. She hurried away, hearing him call out her name in that burr of his. Something warmed inside of her. She smiled. Until she slammed her brows together, determined to not let this interaction change her opinion about anything. Christmas still sucked and he was just a guy hanging around her work. 

She would likely never see him again.

~/~/~/~/~

“Thanks for letting me stay again Missy, I’m so sorry about the imposition.” It was likely doing terrible things for Missy’s sex life, she supposed. Not a very good best friend thing to do. She pushed her suitcase into the corner by the couch, not doing a good job of hiding it in the cramped one bedroom flat. Missy cringed when the suitcase banged into the lamp seated beside it, knocking against a shelf. She snatched a knick-knack one-handed as it began to sway.

Oops, Dany thought with a brief, cringy smile. “Sorry.”

“No it’s fine, I just want you happy and healthy.” Only Missandei, she thought, reaching to accept the hug her best friend bestowed on her. She closed her eyes and hugged back. It felt nice. Missandei always smelled of florals and oranges and the beach. She supposed it was whatever she had brought with her from growing up in the tropics. Missy pulled back and dropped a kiss to her head. “Let me know if you need anything, but you know where it all is.”

She smiled quickly, still wishing she did not have to be the one doing this. Missy was too nice to kick her out or tell her she was wearing her welcome thin. She would have to find an alternative location to crash tomorrow. “Thanks. Good night.”

It took a few minutes to prep for bed, wearing flannel pajama pants and an oversize t-shirt that broadcasted her alma mater, Pentos University. Too bad her university degree wasn’t doing much, she thought, fiddling with the blanket draped over her lap. Drogon sat on her chest, purring and blinking his yellow eyes slowly. At least he was happy. He wasn’t in the store with Cersei. 

Her fingers threaded through his thick fur and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to wander back to that day last year. That night…the night was dark and full of terrors, her doctor had reminded her, and she got out unscathed. To the doctor, a creepy woman with red hair and an even creepier red pulsing necklace, yes, but to Dany…she was anything but unscathed.

It was a typical night at the store, but busier of course because it was Christmas Eve. They had done a major fundraiser. All of that evening’s proceeds would go to the refugee center where she worked. They would go to purchase toys for the children, clothing for the adults, and starter kits for people who were just getting their first homes. Blankets, towels, and kitchenware. She had been so excited to get to the center and to bring the money she had rushed out of the store as fast as possible. 

One of the children at the center had only asked for a Christmas tree. No toys, presents, or clothes. All he wanted was a Christmas tree, because he had heard and seen them in books and television before he’d been taken away to essentially become a child soldier. She had had the store send over a tree to his family’s home, complete with an ornament that bore his photo and name. She wanted to stop there on her way from the center to see the family, to see his face at the sight of his gift.

She’d been running down the street and…and it was fuzzy. So much of it was fuzzy like she was peering at the entire scene through a gauzy sheet. There was a bump…she’d dropped the packet of money. She’d…she’d talked to someone. The guy who attacked her? The police had tried to bring her through the entire thing so many times she could hardly count. She couldn’t remember. The doctors said it was selective amnesia. Sometimes the trauma was too much. She even had got to a hypnotist, but no luck. 

She didn’t want to remember, the City Watch detective had sneered. An insufferable twat called Janos Slynt. She would never forget him. He had insinuated she had had a hand in her own attack, to steal the money. If that was the case, she’d replied back calmly, then why was she still working at a Christmas store and living in a shitty apartment? 

All she knew was she had thought she’d forgotten to lock the store. There was no cash there, it was all on her person, but she wanted to make sure no one could get in and mess it up. So she’d run back to check on the door, make sure it was alarmed and that’s when it happened. If she had just forgotten it completely, what would have happened? Would she have still been attacked? Would she have made it to the refugee center with the money? 

She tried to avoid the news about it, but she found herself turning her phone screen on, punching in her passcode, and typing ‘Christmas Eve 2018 store attack.’ The sick thing she had discovered was she wasn’t the only one who had been attacked on Chrsitmas Eve last year. Just the only one who had enough of a ‘human interest’—as the reporter said— for it to be worth reporting. Sick freaks. She stared at the screen, her thumb shaking as she read one of the first articles and scrolled up. Something caught her eye, something she had forgotten about, or did she just never realize?

_Two critically injured_

She sat up straight on the couch, peering down at the headline again. There was another person, she suddenly remembered, blinking through that terrible fog. She could not remember anyone else around her getting hurt. Could not remember how the passersby knew to contact the police or had seen her get attacked. She never found out the name of the other person. Had not thought to ask…she was blacking out nonstop afterward and Viserys of course would _never_ have asked about the other person. He could hardly ask after her.

The people who called the police and the ambulance said a man had rushed over first. She could not think of his face, no matter how hard she tried to remember. It angered her. She closed her eyes tight, shaking her head as pain began to throb at the base of her skull. “Augh!” she cried, burying her face into the pillow behind her and beating it weakly. Why couldn’t she remember? Why? 

Hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes. It was foolish. She couldn’t sleep. There would be no sleep tonight. Drogon meowed, hopping away from her after her outburst had disturbed his perched position. She grabbed her coat, shoved her feet into wellies, and bundled up with a beanie she thought might have belonged to Missy’s fiancé. Gods what am I doing, she wondered, exiting the building onto the darkened street.

She found herself walking slowly down the street; it was beginning to snow a bit. Tiny flakes that were more irritating than pretty. Not enough to do anything but dampen the sidewalks, perhaps turn to ice in the early morning hours, and not even fat enough to stick out your tongue and taste. Rhaegar always said snow flakes tasted like sugar. Like the clouds were dusting them all in sugar. He was a poet like that. Viserys just said if it was going to be sugar then why not coke, because he would prefer that instead. The difference between her brothers was shocking.

There was a tiny all-hours store on the corner. There were a few wadded up bills in her pocket, she supposed she might have enough to purchase a candy bar or something to occupy herself as she walked back. She looked up after fumbling in her pocket and stared. 

“Gods you are following me.”

“No you’re following me.”

Jon, the handsome black-clad stranger, stood in front of the store, a cigarette in his fingertips. The beautiful white wolf dog was seated beside him again. “You live nearby?” he asked, taking a drag. 

“Nasty habit that,” she said instead of answering. 

He shrugged. “My sisters say it will kill me, but so will most everything else.”

She hadn’t had a cigarette in so long. Kind of longed to take a hit. He seemed to read her mind, or perhaps she had said it out loud, Dany was not sure. He offered it to her and she took the half-finished cigarette and brought it up to her lips before pausing. The doctor’s words spoke to her, reminding her about bad habits and her newly cut-apart lung. Smoking was a major no-no. She sighed, passing it back. “I cant, but thanks.” He gave her a quizzical look. Instead of telling him to mind his fucking business like she should, Dany found herself answering his silent question. “Lung problems.”

“Ah.” He chuckled. “These things will kill you.”

“As will most anything else,” she retorted, using his words from a moment before. She smiled briefly, her arms crossed over her chest against the cold. This was the fourth time in two days. She seemed to encounter him once, run away, and then a second time before…running away. She licked her lips again; they were chapped against the cold, it had nothing to do with how delicious he still looked, especially smoking a cigarette and the way his dark curls fell over his face and tickled the collar of his jacket…fuck Dany! 

Mentally slapping herself, Dany straightened. Jon caught her look and put out the cigarette in a trash bin beside him. He nodded towards the direction she came from. “Let me walk you back.” 

Why do I trust him, she wondered, finding her feet turning of their own accord and trudging back down the sidewalk with him. She did not like the awkward silence. Or the way he made her feel awkward to begin with. So she looked at the beautiful white dog. “Your dog is beautiful.”

“He’s a wolf actually. Part wolf.” He ruffled the beautiful animal’s perked ears. “He’s kind of my familiar.”

Dany laughed. “What are you a wizard or something?”

“Ghost of Christmas Future,” he teased. She nodded in silent admission to him that that was a good one. Using her comment from earlier. They seemed to have develop a bit of a thing with that. He shoved his bare hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket. “No, more like Ghost of Christmas Past.”

“Christmas is the worst.”

“Come on, it’s not all bad.” 

A dark look had him shrugging. “Okay so sometimes it sucks. Fruitcake…crazy families…”

“This is me.” She blurted before they could get into talking about crazy families. Or anything else personal. They were outside of the building. Why she let a complete stranger lead her home, Dany had no idea, and she clutched at the tiny little Swiss Army knife she kept in her coat. She released it after a moment though, taking in the expression in his eyes. Dark and broody…he had his own demons, she recognized. She swallowed hard. “Goodnight Jon…last name unknown.”

He smiled briefly, his voice quiet. “Jon Snow.”

That was obviously a fake name, alluding to the snow falling around them. Dany merely smiled. Smooth, for an awkward guy. She nodded to him and turned, going inside. She found herself looking back and he seemed to have disappeared. She shook her head, blinking a bit, and dragged her feet up the steps to Missy’s walkup. The door gave away as she barely pushed on it to enter, finding Missy sitting on the edge of the couch. 

Her friend stood immediately. “Where did you go? I was worried.”

“I’m sorry…I just…needed some fresh air.”

“It’s good you can go outside at night again.”

“I guess.” She fiddled with the collar of her coat, holding it in her hands after shaking it off. “Um…a guy walked me back though.”

Missy’s eyes widened, combination of curiosity and concern. “Oh?”

“I don’t know why but…he seemed nice.” She thought of Ghost. The wolf-dog. “He has an albino wolf dog. Beautiful.”

“Oh! I’ve seen that dog around. I didn’t think it had an owner.” 

Something told her Ghost might do whatever he felt like doing. It was as though those red eyes could see into her. Read her mind almost. He didn’t seem like a regular dog. “Maybe I’ll see him tomorrow.” Part of her really wanted to see him tomorrow.

Her friend went to the kitchenette, poruing herself a glass of water. “You should really think of coming to the Christmas pageant. I know you said no, but…”

That was what she should have been doing last year, instead she was bleeding out on the concrete, wondering if she was going to die. She shuddered. “I can’t.”

“Dany please…remember when you wanted to do good?” Tears thickened Missy’s voice. “Remember when you left your family’s company and gave up all that money because you just wanted to help people? What happened to her?”

The scar under her breast burned. Dany forced herself not to try to touch it. To try to let that memory fade, but it couldn’t. She cleared her throat. “I wanted to change the world and I got hurt.”

“That was an accident…it was a freak accident.”

She snorted. “No it wasn’t. I had the money for the center…I was going to take it with me and…and I forgot to check the fucking store lock if I…if I had remembered if I locked up or not I would not have been running around with that money for a long time and…” And maybe the guy wouldn’t have seen it. Wouldn’t have attacked her for it. She was just trying to be nice. Trying to help another citizen who had approached her and asked if she wouldn’t mind sparing some change for Christmas Eve. So she’d turned and…and that was part of it before it went gauzy again. 

Missy knew that part and reached for her. “Dany…no it was an accident. Someone took advantage of your good nature. That doesn’t mean you have to hate everyone and to…to do whatever this weird self-punishment is.” She gripped her hands. Missy’s hands were soft and warm, whereas Dany’s felt cold and hard. Like ice. “Please…come back to work. I can help you get a position back.”

A position back in the world of saving people and saving children and thinking you actually could make a difference, Dany thought, closing her eyes tight. It sounded so nice. She couldn’t. Not right now. “I can’t,” she murmured again. 

“What about your inheritance?” 

“What about it?” There was no inheritance. Pittance from the trust. She shook her head, already knowing Missy’s follow-up. “I can’t…that’s for Viserys.” That was for the medical bills that kept coming. The estate falling apart. It would not be able to cover the down payment for the building. She cleared her throat, turning away from Missy, who only wanted to help but couldn’t. She flopped onto the couch and tugged the blanekts over her shoulder, effectively ending the conversation. 

Her eyes closed tight around tears, tears she did not want to shed in front of her friend, who simply went into her bedroom and closed the door. While she heard Missy trying to stifle her tears, Dany sobbed silently into her pillow. Missy wanted to help her. 

No one could help her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished this chapter before I power through the ending of 'if I look back I am lost.' Then I'll think about posting another fic that's in the works, but I'm nervous of the feedback. We'll see. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this :)
> 
> Next time: Dany visits with Viserys; Jon and Dany have a cup of coffee and talk about their weird families.


	4. There's no place I'd rather be, than asking you if you'd oblige

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight days until Christmas....Dany visits Dragonstone and fights with Viserys, upon return to London, she once again has a unique encounter with Jon Snow.

_I'd like to sing about all the things_

_Your eyes and mind can see_

_So hop aboard the turntable_

_Oh step into Christmas with me_

**Elton John, Step into Christmas **

**17 December 2019**

The store was probably going to be on fire by the time she returned tomorrow, but Dany really did not care. She supposed it was just part of her "if I can't have it, no one can" type of attitude with respect to Rhaegar's building. It would also sort of be poetic, seeing as Rhaegar only took over the company officially when her father died...after he had burned downt he vast majority of his properties and been indicted for arson and insurance fraud. She shook her head, sighing, although she supposed it would be fun to see Cersei's head explode at the fact that her sweet littel angel Joffrey was a monster in disguise, no doubt destroying the store as he attempted to learn the "family business." 

Since Cersei decided her sweet Joffrey had to learn how to deal with the businesses, Jamie had wisely let her leave, saying he would handle things. He knew that she would likely kill the beastly boy or his sister if she was there for most of the day. Dany decided that instead of dealing with the Lannister family drama, she might as well cope with some of hers and took the train out towards Oxford, where her family's crumbling estate Dragonstone was. She really didn't like coming out to Dragonstone, not just because it was a bit of a hassle for someone without a car, but because it reminded her of when she was small and how shitty her life had been at the time. 

Mother dead, father dead, and Rhaegar trying to do the best he could, when he was coping with his own stressors. Rhaegar, for as good as she saw him, had battled his demons as well. His wife and two children had been killed in a car accident before she was born and she knew that he had some sort of long lost love out there, for he often sang songs about a woman with dark hair and grey eyes. He tried though. Tried to braid her hair and be her father, but at the end of the day he was just her big brother. Trying to also deal with Viserys too. She was scared and lonely her entire life, the odd kid with silver hair and purple eyes, while Viserys was the ticking time bomb, who was fine until suddenly he wasn't. 

She approached the estate's main gates, two wrought iron behemoths in the form of dragons, their claws entwining to meet in the middle. The rumor was that the stone walls surrounding the grounds and making up the estate itself were forged from volcanic ash, during the times of dragons. Or at least, that was what Rhaegar said. She supposed her father, an undiagnosed schizophrenic had dreamed it up and told him. Viserys used to tease her with chicken bones and say they were dragons coming to haunt her. 

The electronic code box wasn't working-- shock-- so she merely pushed hard enough and the rusted hinges squeaked to allow her entry. She trudged up the dirty snow-packed driveway, winding like a dragon tail to the main door. The crimson doors needed repainting and the once silver shining dragon doorknockers needed polished. She hit the doorbell, listening to the gong echo in the home. The bills for the heating were likely through the roof, so she tugged her coat tighter around her and scrunched her neck down, burrowing into it. Viserys no doubt would be hiding in the newer addition off the back, since it didn't cost as much to heat. 

After a few moments, the door tugged open. She smiled, trying to be polite. "Hello, how are you today?" she asked, stepping up into the grand foyer, smiling at Viserys's nurse Doreah. 

Doreah scowled and Dany noted the bag on her shoulder and the coat hurriedly wrapped around her. "Thank gods, I was wondering when you were showing up. I'm done dealing with your brother. You can send my final wages through the service." 

Fuck! Dany's eyes widened. "No! No, what did he do? I can fix it!"

"What is the point of a nurse if he won't even let you nurse him?" Doreah demanded. She arched her dark brows. "He has refused to take his medication for the last two weeks, he ran off to London two days ago, and since then he has been an absolute terror." She jerked her arms into her coat. "Goodbye Ms. Targaryen. He's your problem now."

"No, wait!" It was too late. The woman had already stormed off to her car. Dany sighed, slumping against the open door. She waited a moment, wallowed for like fifteen seconds, and then slammed the door as hard as she could-- not very-- before she stormed through the house, screaming like the mad dragon she was. "VISERYS!"

The entire manor was so cold, she was surprised there weren't icicles dripping off the old sconces and the various dragon motifs. It was dark, dreary, and all the uncarpeted stone made it worse. How her brother could stand living here, she never knew. She pushed through the door to enter the apartments off the back, connected to the old kitchen, the only real part of the manor they still used. Along with one of the conservatories, which had been formed into a spacious living room. She felt her Army boots vibrate with each heavy step she took, growing angrier by the moment. 

When she emerged into the living room, she found her brother throwing darts at one of the formal paintings of their father. It was riddled with various tears, scratches, dart, knife, and she suspected bullet holes. She rolled her eyes and shrugged off her coat. It was hot in here. "What the fuck Vis? Doreah just quit!"

"She was poisoning me."

"No one is poisoning you!" It was fruitless to argue with him in this state. The Vis she had seen at the store a couple days ago was downright boring compared to the one who was hurling darts at the picture, at least a decanter deep into scotch, and his silver hair stringy and knotted in a queue at the base of his neck. She looked arounda t the mess. Empty liquor bottles, strewn blankets, and pill bottles that were _not_ the medication he needed to take to keep his moods in check. She began to clean up the coffee table and moved a book over, just to see white powder smeared on the surface. "Fuck Vis!"

Viserys barely paid her attention, chucking his final dart at their father. "What?"

"Coke? Really?"

"You know it mellows me."

"That's the opposite of cocaine, you stupid fuckhead." She stormed to the kitchen to collect a spray bottle and paper towels to clean it off. She did what she could, but the place was in such disarray and Vis was very particular about his things, even when he was in a manic mood. She couldn't tell just where he was on his spectrum of emotions, so she let him continue to chuck darts at their dead father's portrait. Having never met the man, she figured that he deserved it, just based on others' memories of him alone.

She still was not sure what her entire purpose for visiting Dragonstone was at that point. Perhaps it was the weird feelings that had been stirring in her of late. The anniversary of the attack, Vis showing up at the store after a prolonged absence from her life, the Lannsiter's finally divesting her of the store, and the cute stormy guy with the wolf dog...

Whoa. Where did that come from?

Dany tried not to think of the mysterious fake-named Jon Snow. She was not interested in men at the moment. They were nothing but trouble. She had abstained from any male company or interaction since she dumped that wannabe Daario. She'd invited him to her bed purely on a mutual sexual relationship and nothing more. It was at a time when she was stressed out with the work she'd been doing, dealing with her family stuff, and she just wanted someone to be there. Unfortunately, Daario had developed feelings and that went beyond the constraints of her agreement with him. Plus, he only saw her as the pretty silver-haired lady with the trust fund. She was nothing without her trust fund, it seemed. The trust fund that irony would have it, if Daario had stuck around a little longer, was essentially nothing. It certainly would not allow him to live his lavish playboy "consultant" lifestyle.

She briefly had a momentary image of Jon Snow's delicious denim-clad ass, but tried to put it away, especially when she thought of his eyes. There was no way they could be gray, and yet they seemed like it in some light. Other times they turned molten brown. What was she thinking, other times? She'd only seen him...four times, she figured. She shook her head. That was too many for a total stranger she had no interest in. 

While Viserys stewed, she made her way back to the main estate, taking the back staircase, the "servant's stairs" as Vis called them growing up, to the third floor, where her room was. When she was little, she had the room next to Rhaegar on the second floor and Vis was down the hall. Then she turned into a teenage girl and immediately hated her brothers and everything about them, so she'd moved up to the third floor, which was essentially a two-room attic. One room housed all the junk that had come with the estate and now most of its furniture, and the other was just for her. It was large, taking up half the floor, but it had slanted ceilings, eaves, and dormer windows. She had her bed pushed up against the far wall, wrought iron four-poster with a canopy. It used to have luxurious red velvet curtains, but now it was empty. 

The curtains were no doubt packed up somewhere, along with most of her other things. Some stuff still lingered, like silly posters tacked to the ceiling and her massive collection of old books. Books of fairytales, knights, dragons, and queens. She liked old languages that didn’t exist anymore. She walked over to the desk and picked up a dusty picture, staring at the image contained in the tarnished silver. It was her graduation from sixth form, Rhaegar with his arms around her, grinning and even Viserys looked healthy, the barest hint of a smile on his lips.

Every one of them had silver hair and purple eyes, but different shades. The photo seemed to really show that off if you looked close enough. Rhaegar’s were indigo, endless depths that often were filled with sadness. Viserys’s were lilac and usually darting from side to side. Hers were closer to lavender and used to be just as happy as the flower made most people. Like in the picture. 

She chuckled, setting the picture back down. She glanced at another, tacked to the mirror, shaking her head at the image. “Gods, what was wrong with me,” she wondered, pulling it down and staring at the image of her and Drogo. Drogo had been someone Viserys almost sold her to, when he found out Drogo could get really good drugs from his rich clients. In the end she’d gone with Drogo so she could escape. Rhaegar had died, she was alone, and she wanted to rebel. She wasn’t sure what she wanted. She was as cared little girl playing in a big boy’s world when she’d run off with the tall, hulking Drogo. 

Things could have been so different, she thought, looking between the photos. Rhaegar could be alive and they could be happy. Or she could still be with Drogo. His death empowered her. Got her to come running back home, realizing her foolish mistakes. She’d found a purpose though. For a time. 

It did no good to think of what might have been, she thought, brushing her fingers over her stomach. She flinched. She dropped the photo onto the desk and left, her arms around her and puffing smoky breaths in the chill of the big manor. The rooms were no doubt filled with dust and debris. Viserys lived in the addition, although she was still surprised he hadn’t moved into Rhaegar’s room. 

Even Viserys knew his limits. 

She ignored Rhaegar’s room, not wanting to go in and think about her sweet big brother. Killed by a drunken buffoon. It was an accident, but he was dead. It didn’t matter. She returned to the living room, finding Viserys stretched out on the couch, puffing on a joint. At least that would mellow him out, she thought, staring down at her mess of a brother. I’m the youngest, I shouldn’t be taking care of him. Except Viserys had always been the weak one. Rhaegar told her that he had endured the most of their father’s black moods, he’d lost his mother at a young age, and no one could protect him the way he needed.

She sank onto the arm of one of the wingback chairs, glaring at him. “You have to get on your meds, Vis. I can’t keep doing this. I have enough going on.”

He snorted. “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m serious! I’m…” I’m a mess, she silently said. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “The Lannisters are selling Rhaegar’s first property. I can’t buy it…it’s going to get knocked down or turned into something horrible. Missy wants me to return to the shelter…”

Viserys barely glanced at her, but peered over at Missy’s name. He had a crush on her. Always had. Exerted his frustration at never being able to have her by teasing her mercilessly when he did see her. Missy couldn’t stand him, but indulged him. “Return to the shelter? Seriously? Get a real job Dany.”

“Oh yeah, let’s talk about a real job.”

“Technically I’m CEO of Meraxes Vhagar.”

“And what have you done as CEO?” The company was not officially dissolved, but Vis did nothing. He tended to the tiny bits of stock they still had and a couple of the various trusts. None of which they could really touch. It was purely for the business. She rolled her eyes. “Come on Vis. You have a degree from Cambridge.”

“And you have one from Oxford, so who gives a fuck.”

They weren’t stupid, despite what people said about the Targaryens. Madness and greatness, two sides of a coin, she’d heard people say about them. Vis was the madness, Rhaegar the greatness and her…well she was pretty sure she was mad. She was talking to Vis for one. “I can’t help you. You’re going to just have to let yourself die,” she grumbled.

He glanced at her, his eyes glassy and pupils blown over the lilac irises. “I’m not dying anytime soon baby sister.” 

“You’re doing a damn good job of failing at that.”

“I’m not sick!”

“No, you’re just doing lines of coke, not taking any medication but the ones you’re not supposed to, and you just fired the one person who I thought would be able to tolerate you for extended periods!” she shouted. She jumped from the chair and grabbed her coat, shoving her arms into it. She had to get out of here. This was clearly a mistake. Her voice went shrill, but the concern seeped into it. “You’re my only family Viserys and I can’t lose you.”

He glared up at her. “Well if I’m a mess then you certainly are too.”

“Thing is I know I am!” 

“People are trying to kill us. Look at Rhaegar! Look at you!” His eyes went wild. “I’m next.”

No one is trying to kill you; she wanted to cry. She couldn’t keep doing this. The doctors had always said Viserys had a combination of mood disorders, depression, anxiety, and the paranoia manifested from…well from everything. She feared he was like their father, but schizophrenia had long been ruled out. She couldn’t do this right now. Viserys would just have to manage without her. “I’m going.”

“Good, that’s what you always do, isn’t it? Rhaegar died and you ran off with Drogo, then you came crawling back to me to fix it!” Vis yelled. He jabbed out the joint, which she at least felt was a positive—he wasn’t going to burn the house down yet. He jumped from the couch. “You ran off to all those crazy places for that refugee thing, you refused to help me, and…”

“Help you?” she interrupted. The dragon inside of her flashed. Viserys always said that he was the dragon of the family. The one who could breathe fire and had the temper to match. Viserys was weak. Dany was the real dragon. She flared her nostrils, about to spit fire. She stormed towards him and pushed him back onto the couch, sobbing. “You selfish shit! I almost died and you weren’t there!” 

His eyes flashed, confusion in them. “What?”

Was he so sick he couldn’t remember? “Last year, I almost died! I was sick and miserable and hurt and you weren’t there,” she sobbed. My only family member and he couldn’t be bothered to be with her. She sniffed, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. He continued to stare at her with a mix of incredulity and confusion. “I woke up alone in that hospital. You weren’t there.” Only Missy and Grey helped her. Jorah came to her rescue when he found out as well. Except Viserys. Her brother couldn’t be bothered.

Viserys advanced towards her, but stopped. He bunched his fists at his side. His voice was soft, brimming with anger. “You…you think I ignored you last year?”

“Yes.” She didn’t think it, she _knew_ it. He seemed hurt, but she couldn’t understand why. 

The mask covered his face before she could ask him why, what did he think he did for her, and he scowled. “Fine, shows what you know. Maybe I’m not the only crazy one.”

“I hate you. I try to help you and nothing!” She paused and then the words came out before she could even say why she was saying them. Or what they meant. All she wanted to do was hurt him and her tongue lashed out like a stream of dragon fire, burning. “I wish I died that night so I don’t have to deal with you and your crazy ass.”

He stared at her for a moment. She couldn’t read his face. He shook his head and stepped back. “Fine. Get out. If you hate me that much, just leave. I’ll be fine without you.”

“How?” she laughed. “You spend all the money you get each month from Rhaegar’s estate on booze and blow!”

“I hate you too, so just get out!” He pointed to the door. “I’ll be fine to never speak to you again Dany, so just get the fuck out here and never come back!”

Don’t have to tell me twice, she thought with a cry of frustration, tears hot on her face. She swept from the house, out the back door of the kitchen and slammed the door as loud as she could, hoping she broke something on the way out. She raged and screamed, storming down the winding way to the gates, not looking back at the place that used to be her home. She never should have come today. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t that, but did she seriously expect him to listen to reason? Viserys had always been the wild one.

Dany wiped at her eyes and nose, going over the words in her mind. She didn’t mean them. She didn’t want to die last year, lying on the cold ground and feeling her heart rate slow and the breath leave her. The Good Samaritan who had stopped to help her briefly, whose face was a shifting shadow in her mind, she wasn’t sure what happened to him, but she thanked him—or her—for saving her.

The train ride back to London was depressing as hell; she was basically alone, huddling in her seat and staring at the blur of the countryside turn to buildings as they swung their way back to the city. She tried to take a nap, but sleep did not come, as it rarely did. She ran her thumb over the tattoo on her wrist, dragons creeping their way up her forearm. She got it after she came back from Dubai, from Drogo…reminding her of various things long gone, she supposed. 

Eventually the train came to a stop and she exited, figuring that she might as well go back to Missy’s apartment. Maybe lay around with Drogon for the rest of the day, since hell, she was not going into work. She was trudging out of the train station when suddenly she stopped . It felt like someone was watching her. Very slowly she drew her eyes up from the ground.

Oh what the… 

This could not possibly be happening, no way, nuh-uh. 

She stood outside of the door from the station and there was that white wolf dog across the street, staring at her as though he had been expecting her. The unnerving red eyes blinked slowly and he opened his mouth, lazily letting his tongue hang out in a pant, before trotting across the street—dear gods she was sure he looked both ways before he did so—pushing his cold black nose into her palm. She shook her head, marveling at the intelligence of such a creature. "Where's your master? Stalking me no doubt?"

On cue, the wolf looked over across the street and his master walked out of a building, a newspaper folded in his hand. Something shot straight from her heart to an area of her body she had not thought much about in the last couple of years at the sight of him. Black pea coat collar turned up against the chill, that divine ass snug in worn jeans, black boots, and _fuck_. Silver glasses perched on his nose and his dark curls tied back in a rather fashionable and un-ironic man-bun. _Gods,_ she thought. Daario used to try to put his hair in a bun and all it served was make him look more like a douche than she figured he happened to be.

She followed Ghost across the street and poked Jon Snow, he of the fake name and cute ass, on his shoulder. "You are following me," she accused, but with a smile this time. 

He grinned, rolling the paper up and shoving it into a recycle container beside him. "Or are you following me?"

"I think we have had this conversation before." I feel like we have met each other before. She nodded to Ghost. "Your wolf was waiting for me I think."

"He tends to do that."

"He looked both ways crossing the street."

Jon smiled. "He attended road safety class as a puppy."

She smiled in return. It was nice to talk to someone who could hold a conversation without resorting to screaming. Or whatever it was she had had with Viserys. A pang lodged in her heart. Regret, she supposed. She shouldn't feel it, because she was entitled to not deal with Viserys when he got like this, but she loved him. he was her brother after all, as bad as it seemed to get. She cleared her throat. "You know you didn't get me hot chocolate yesterday."

"Because you ran away, if I'm not mistaken."

"Whatever."

"That your way of asking if I can buy you a hot chocolate?" he asked. His eyes crinkled in humor behind those cute glasses. They should not make him even hotter but somehow they did. She was irrationally furious about it. He frowned a bit when she didn't answer. The awkwardness settled in his eyes. "Or..."

She wrinkled her nose, smiling. It was almost too easy to screw with him. "Maybe."

A sigh of relief. "Oh. Okay then."

They walked away from Paddington Station, heading in the direction of King's Landing. Everything around her seemed to wash away. The slush under her boots, the cold air whipping around in the narrow streets, and the bustle of people hurrying around, attempting to get where they needed to be as fast as they could. It was just the two of them. His hands were shoved in his pockets. She did the same, both of them cutting a similar figure. "So no elf costume," he finally said, breaking the silence.

"Not today."

"They let you off this close to the holidays?"

"I went to visit my brother." She caught herself before she said more. She didn't want to talk about Viserys with a total stranger. Except...she hesitated and swallowed hard. "He's unwell."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." Silence again. She glanced sideways. "The burr...you're from up north, yeah?"

"Scotland, yeah."

"Doesn't sound Scottish."

He smirked. "A bit north of Edinburgh. An estate called Winterfell, outside of Winter Town."

"North, north then."

"Aye."

"Okay that's Scottish," she teased. She grinned. "Do you also say 'I dinna' ken'?"

"Aye, _sassanach._"

"_Sassanach_? Oh gods, do you watch _Outlander_?" She had a guilty pleasure for Jamie Fraser. She thought on a word he'd said. Her eyebrows slammed together. "An estate?" It wasn't uncommon to encounter people who had grown up on estates or lands or whatever belonging to some royal or someone with some remote sort of title, but him? She couldn't see it. She scowled. "Don't tell me you're like a Lord or Baron or something."

He shook his head, his voice quiet. "Nah, I'm not legitimate. Don't get any titles."

That was bullshit. "So your father was some Lord that stepped out on his wife then?" Nevermind, it wasn't any of her business.

"Not quite. I wouldn't get a title because I don't know my dad."

"Sorry, it's none of my business," she immediately said.

He shrugged. "It's why my last name isn't Stark, like my mother."

Her feet stopped before her body did, almost pitching her forward. Her hand shot out to grab his elbow for balance, and she looked at him, incredulous. "Wait a second...your last name is really Snow?" 

The dark eyes twinkled with bemusement. "You thought my name was fake?"

"Well...yeah! Jon Snow? Might as well say 'John Doe'!"

"And yours is really Daenerys?" he shot back. He snorted. She scowled. A pink flush crept over the top of his beard. "Oh...it is?"

"Daenerys Targaryen, that's me." She grinned. Why the _fuck_ was she telling him her real name? She was stupid. "Stormborn too. Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen."

He laughed. "I'm just Jon Snow."

"So why Snow?"

"Oh it's an old tradition." He elaborated at her glare, silently demanding he explain what sort of tradition it entailed. He sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. "It's an old thing where I'm from. Bastards aren't given the name of the family, so they take on another. Snow is the name. My mother was a Stark, but I'm not one because my father isn't a Stark. So I got the last name Snow. Besides, my father's wife would throw the biggest shit-fit if I ever had the same name as her sons and daughters." He paused for a moment. "She's a bit of a cunt."

Dany choked on her tongue at the sharp curse from his pouty lips. She laughed, coughing through the surprise. "Wow...Jon Snow I don't know you well at all but something tells me that word doesn't come easy to you."

"Took me a long time to realize, but yes she is."

"Why?"

He shrugged again and glanced both ways before hurrying across the street with her, feet splashing into a puddle of water. "She doesn't like the idea that I could take the estate and everything from her kids. Plus..." He pointed to his head, rolling his eyes. "I look more like my father than her kids."

So wait...he kept referring to his father but then he didn’t have one? She must have shown some confusion because he shrugged again. "My mom died when I was born. My uncle raised me like his son. My cousins aren't cousins, they're brothers and sisters."

"Wow. My brother was more my father than my father. He died when I was little, I don't remember him." She didn't like talking about Rhaegar. Her heart ached so much for him. For his songs and music and his kind smile. She glanced at Jon, who was watching her out of the corner of his eye. She knew he wanted more. It was only fair, she supposed. "I have two brothers. One died a few years ago. My other is...the one who lives at Dragonstone."

"Dragonstone? That estate near Oxford?" He whistled low under his breath. "I remember hearing stories of there. Of the old houses. Do you really have dragon skulls?"

"I wish." 

"I see your tattoo."

Oh that, she thought, looking down at the three dragons floating on her right wrist. She rubbed the top one, pointing. "I call that one Drogon, this one is Rhaegal and the other is Viserion." She smirked. "My cat is also Drogon, you remember."

"Odd name."

"My ex-husband's name." Eyebrows shot above the silver glasses. She rolled her eyes. "Well, he's dead actually so not really my ex. We were getting divorced and then he got mauled by a sheikh's lion when he got drunk and decided to go investigating the cage...it's a long story."

"And I thought my life was interesting. That why you don't like Christmas? Your...husband died then or something?"

No I did, she thought. I died on Christmas. "Something like that," she simply chose to respond. His silence was awfully loud and she knew it was about why the hell would someone name their cat after an ex. She glanced at him again, her voice quiet. It was deeply personal but there was something very...open about Jon Snow. Her arms tightened and she withdrew her hands to wrap them around her body, hugging herself. "Drogo died of a weakness. He oddly helped me in a...Stockholm Syndrome kind of way...when I found Drogon he was almost near death, but I knew he wasn't weak. I named him after Drogo because he was everything Drogo was not. Reminds me too." It was silly and stupid, but it was important to her. And to his credit, Jon Snow said nothing.

All he did was merely reach his hand to lightly touch her forearm. “I’m sorry.”

She cleared her throat again; it felt like everything was kind of closing in on them. “Thanks,” she mumbled. She waited a moment and then frowned, looking up. “Winterfell you said? Like the whiskey?” It was too expensive for her tastes. Good whiskey, but yeah, too expensive. 

He wrinkled his nose. It made his glasses move up a bit and she thought perhaps one of her traitorous ovaries exploded in that moment. She was going to rip them out if they kept up this constant flipping and turning. She did not need a guy. She did not need Jon Snow, of all people. Someone she didn’t even know. But those glasses… “My family owns it. Stark Enterprises.”

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously.” He didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t pry. They crossed the street, Ghost leading the way. It was like no one else was around them and no one even dared to acknowledge the wolf leading the way, even if he was clipped to a leash now, the handle barely held in Jon’s left hand. He stared ahead for a moment. Until he stopped and looked down at her again. “My father died last Christmas. Kind of shitty for me too.”

Well aren’t we quite a pair. “I’m sorry,” it was her turn to say. 

“Are you always going to work as an elf?”

“I had plans once upon a time ago.”

“What happened?”

She kept her arms around her body. The fake fur of her red coat itched under her chin and the beanie she wore over her silver hair seemed too tight on her head. Or else it was just the beginnings of a headache from her lack of sleep, nutrition, and dealing with her brother. “Life,” she murmured. She shook her head quickly. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

He touched her arm again. She realized he was wearing fingerless wool gloves, but despite his fingers being exposed to the cold, they felt warm on the exposed skin of her wrist. “I’m sorry I asked, I didn’t want to pry.” They were ultimately strangers, despite the constant interaction. She glanced at him, at those odd gray eyes that she knew were ultimately brown. It had to be the darkness of them. He was pressing still, even without saying a word. 

So she found herself answering. They were by a park, approaching King’s Landing. She entered through the brick entryway, wandering across the snow-covered grass to sit on a child’s swing. The melted snow pooling on the plastic seat soaked into her cheap coat, but she didn’t care. Jon unclipped Ghost, despite the obvious **All Dogs Must Be On A Leash!** sign posted at the entry. She arched an eyebrow at his action. He smirked. “He’s more wolf than dog.”

“All the more reason I suppose.”

“He’s actually kind of like a person.”

That he was, she noted, as Ghost, despite the opportunity to take off and run after poor Londoners, merely sat his haunches into the snow and closed his eyes, enjoying the cool air. She began to swing, her feet pressed together. “Where’d you get him?” 

At the same time, he came around to grip the chains of the swing, bringing her to a stop and leaning down around her, his husky voice soft in her ear. “You said before that you were hurt last year.”

Did she? She couldn’t remember. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Sometimes talking helps.”

“Really Mr. Broody? I see those frown lines you have.” He merely smiled, vague. She gazed away from the park to the people walking around them. The sound of the kids on the other part of the playground squealing and racing around. She shook her head, whispering, and trying to ignore the burn in her eyes. “Everyone here is so happy.”

The swing began to move. He was lightly pushing on the middle of her back, his hands warm and comforting as he pushed her on the swing. She titled her head back and kicked her feet out again. “And you don’t like that,” he said.

“I do it’s just…irritating.”

“I used to be like that. Cyncial.”

“And you aren’t?”

“Kind of got over it I guess.” 

That would be nice. Missy always said that she wasn’t a cynical person, not at heart. She was pragmatic, but never a cynic. Until last year. Until it went to shit. “How?” she whispered. 

The swing began to slow and he walked around, kneeling in front of her as she dragged her heels to a stop in the slush beneath her. He gripped the chains again and smiled, that little half-smile that did not meet his pretty eyes. He didn’t answer. She cocked her head. How did they get to this point, where she was all but pouring her guts to a total stranger? A stranger who had helped her hide from Vis and walked her home and…she wasn’t sure. Missy would call it fate. She would just call it coincidence, she supposed. “Where did you come from?” she whispered suddenly. A thought that slipped out before she realized.

The half-smile did not change. He lifted his eyebrows a little. “Like in general? You do know where babies come from Dany, right?”

_Daaaahhhhnnnnyyy._ Her heart skipped a little. “You’re weird, Jon Snow,” she finally deduced. He simply stood and reached into his pocket, removing his lighter and began to flick it, playing around. She remembered last night, he was smoking. “Why aren’t you smoking? Or are you just going to fiddle with it?”

“I’m trying to quit…again.” He pocketed the lighter. Eyes dancing. “Someone told me it might kill me.”

She kicked out again, swinging backwards so her silver hair touched the snow behind her. Her breath strained in her chest as she tried to speak, so she sat back up again before she could make a fool of herself and start a coughing fit. The scar tissue over her chest stretched and ached. “How’d you quit the first time then?”

“Military.”

Even more surprising. The man-bun, cigarette-smoking, motorocycle-driving, wolf-owner was also in the military. She lifted her brows. “Military?” She laughed. “A long time ago I never would have spoken to you.”

“Oh, why is that?”

“Bad boys weren’t my thing.” Until Rhaegar died and suddenly she wanted to do anything and everything to not be quiet, shy, reserved Dany. 

He laughed, a throaty chuckle from somewhere in his chest. “Oh and I’m a bad boy? I’ll have to tell my sisters. They think I’m anything but a bad boy.”

“You’re dark, broody, and you have a wolf.” She continued, teasing because she saw something in his eyes that told her she was dancing around a nerve. She wanted to see if it could light up. “You probably were the most honorable in the world. I bet you saved damsels in distress.” 

The nerve was touched. The darkness in his eyes lit and she felt something light inside of her, deep in her belly. Something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She kicked up from the swing and moved closer to him, her fingers pushing lightly on his chest, knocking him back a step. This was fun. It was playing with a wolf. A wolf and a dragon. “I’m not as honorable as I think you think I am,” he murmured. His eyes darkened further, the pupils blackening out his irises. His hands went to her hips and she realized she may have gone too far. “I try to be, but…sometimes didn’t quite work out that way.”

She licked her lips; no longer chapped from the cold but dry from the breath puffing out in short little gasps. Dany, you are an idiot, her little voice screamed. Another, a dark version, the dragon inside of her, began to coo at her. _This is what’s been missing._ “And why is that?”

“I’m angry. I do stupid things when I get angry.” He cocked his head. “I went to juvie, does that count for bad boy?”

“Where?” Like she would know any juvenile detention facilities.

The darkness was taking over his entire expression. She hitched a breath again. “The Wall.”

Oh damn. She knew that one. A place up in Scotland, farther north than anyone ever thought possible. Rhaegar sometimes threatened to send Vis there, growing up. “Whoa…I’m…sorry.”

“Don’t be. I went for something I didn’t really do, but it didn’t matter. Helped control the anger…a bit.” He grinned, wolfish. That other fire in his eyes flashing. “Did the trick.”

“You’re adjusted.” I know I certainly am not. 

Jon reached and lightly tucked one of her stray silver curls behind her ear, his callused fingers dragging across her soft cheek. This was going too far, Dany thought. It was too much. She couldn’t do this. She tried to step back. The grip of his hand on her hip prevented her from moving too far. “You’re broken,” he breathed, brow pinching together. He saw through her. He could read her and she didn’t like it. She swallowed hard. No words came, as much as she wanted to tell him to back off, that he didn’t know her. 

So she reached her hand to his and carefully removed it from her cheek. “I need to get home,” she whispered. It was not really a lie. A convenient excuse for the moment. To get her as far away from Jon Snow as she could get. 

Jon Snow did not move out of her way and for some reason her feet were frozen in the snow. “I used to hate Christmas too,” he whispered. He smiled sadly. “I don’t anymore.”

“What happened?” How, she silently begged.

“Life.” The same thing she said before. 

There was something bubbling up from below. A need to just…spill. She found herself rambling. “My brother is sick. It’s why I was at Dragonstone. He’s sick and he’s off his meds and…and it’s one more thing I just cannot handle right now.” So yeah, she hated Christmas. Tears pricked her eyes. “I had a bad experience last year. People showed how awful they really are and the world just…just keeps giving me things I can’t deal with right now so yeah, I hate Christmas and…and you may have been able to get over whatever it was that happened to you, but I can’t and…and I’m going home.” 

Somehow she dragged her feet from him. She made her way to the park’s exit when he called out. “Can I see you again?”

A smirk pulled on her lips. She spun around, shooting over her shoulder. “You know where I work!” 

Instead of looking back, she surged forward, but couldn’t help the smile that began to tug on her lips at the prospect of seeing Mr. Jon Snow or his weird ghost-dog again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon's corporeal status seems to be in question, which is kind of the point of this fic ;) Don't want to overspoil, but I will say he is neither dead, nor is he quite alive. It's a Christmas trope fic, come on! :D And as with Christmas trope movies, there's always a happy ending. It's just getting there. 
> 
> Next time: Seven days to Christmas...Dany meets Robb and Rickon at the store; Jon finds Dany a place to stay.


	5. and since we've no place to go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany meets Robb and Rickon; Jon and Dany exchange a snowball fight that briefly leads to something else.

_When we finally kiss good-night_

_How I'll hate going out in the storm_

_But if you really grab me tight_

_All the way home I'll be warm_

**Dean Martin; Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!**

**v. 18 December 2019AC**

_Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ Dany repeated in her head, cursing the two kids who had been throwing an ornament back and forth like it was a ball of rubber instead of a ball of glass, only to not just drop that ornament but knock into an entire display of baubles. They had crashed to the floor like icicles from a rafter, shattering crystal and glass on the hardwood floor. She had heard it from the loft, where she’d been redecorating one of the trees, and did not even need to hear Cersei screech for a broom. And not to ride off into the sky like the witch she was.

Her knees cramped from squatting so long, sweeping the brush over the floor and collecting as much as the glass as she could into the dustpan. She lifted her head and met the apologetic look of Tyrion Lannister, who had dropped in that day to ‘observe.’ He was observing her, she knew, and she hated it. Tyrion liked to think he could play shrink to everyone, because he happened to be right about a couple of things now and then. She scowled, broke her gaze from his, and returned to sweeping the glass.

She was just getting the last of it a few minutes later when a shadow fell over the floor. She tossed a strand of sweaty hair from her face. “Move,” she ordered. “It’s glass and I’m trying to get it up. You’re in the way.”

The person knelt to her level and call it fate, call it whatever, but she knew who it was before she lifted her face to meet his, now at her level. “Need help?” Jon asked. He was wearing glasses again. She wanted to take them off. They were so stupid. They were so hot. She felt her traitorous body yearn for him. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

She scowled, bothered more by the glasses making him so unfairly attractive than the offer to help, when she was perfectly capable of doing it herself. “You’ll break union rules,” she teased, smirking. 

“Elves have unions?”

“How else do you think they work during only one season a year?”

He smiled, so fast she almost missed it; it briefly reminded her of the Big Bad Wolf from cartoons. That’s what he was, she thought darkly, a wolf, come to take her away. She shivered in slight anticipation. _What in the seven hells is wrong with you Dany? Get. A. Fucking. Grip._ He cocked his head; something shot straight to her stomach. She ignored it. Or tried to at least. “Is it time for your elf union-mandated break? I never did get you hot chocolate.”

At this point she couldn’t fucking care what sort of drink he was going to get her. She shook her head, briefly smiling and nodding towards Cersei, who was sweeping around like the Wicked Witch of the West in her emerald dress. “That one will kill me if I don’t finish cleaning this up.”

“Well…” He grabbed an elf hat from one of the stuffed animals in a basket beside him, setting it on his head. It should _never_ have made him endearing, hot, cute, whatever, but it did. He smiled again, cheeky. “I’m in your union.”

For someone who fumbled and was awkward, he sure could be smooth when he wanted. Probably had no idea he was being smooth. She kind of liked that. “You’re so weird,” she laughed, in spite of herself. She handed him the dustpan, letting him hold it while she swept up the glass. She took it and deposited it in the rubbish, removing her elf hat and the one from the top of his head, wagging it at him. “This stays here. Union rules.”

He nodded to Cersei. “You going to tell her your leaving?”

“I’m taking my ten!” she shouted, to no one in particular. When no one was looking, she made a face at Cersei at her back, turning and grabbing her coat from under the register, just in time to see Tyrion head for her. She grit her teeth, clicked her tongue, and grabbed hold of Jon Snow’s arm without realizing it. “Let’s get the back way out.” 

“That through the window?”

“Not this time.” She dragged him through the rooms in the back where they kept the inventory and other assorted random items, slipping out the fire-exit and into the alley where she’d first encountered him. She ducked around the side of the building and to the square, with him beside her. She laughed at his amused expression. “Sorry, avoiding one of the other bosses. He likes to think he can take care of me.”

“And can he?”

A dark look crossed her face. She knew Tyrion thought himself responsible for her in some way, but all his _help_ usually ended up in her feeling more miserable or being in an even worse situation. Tyrion was the worst when it came to advice, but somehow he had managed to talk his way into a position as CFO of the Lannister Corporation since his father had died. Mysteriously, of course, as most things occurred in the Lannister family. She walked beside him, her hands in her pockets and the platforms of her elf shoes clicking on the pavement. 

He glanced sideways. “So what does an elf do when she is not working at a year-round holiday store?”

Of course he would try to get more information from her. This was the fourth day in a row they’d seen each other. It was bound to happen. Especially when he’d tried to get her to admit what happened to her the previous year. She was holding him to getting her the damn hot chocolate and then…then she didn’t know. She liked his company. He was weird. Kind of like her. She approached a corner vendor, getting a cup of tea instead of hot chocolate. “You want anything?” she asked, when he said nothing. 

He shook his head and she shrugged, taking the couple pounds from him and paying for the drink. So expensive for a cup of shitty tea, she thought, joining him and ignoring the odd look from the vendor. Yes, she was wearing an elf costume, so what? She walked beside him through the Christmas festival, pausing every so often to laugh at some dumb holiday t-shirt or admire a handmade gift or decoration. “So what does an elf do when not working?” he repeated.

There was no giving it up, she guessed. She tugged on the teabag, watching it bob up and down in the cup. “I…” she began. She snapped her mouth closed. Waited a moment. Her eyes fluttered closed. “I worked for a charity…refugee center thing. I’m a social worker by training.”

Something in his dark eyes lit up. “Oh yeah? What kind?”

“What kind of what?”

He chuckled, a little nervous. He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “I mean like…what kind of charity? Refugee center thing?”

It was more like Missy’s charity now. It was the work she had discovered was her passion, after she’d ended up seeing it for herself in the Middle East and in parts of Africa. Women bought and sold, essentially. People paying off incredible debts in a modern-day indentured servitude. She couldn’t take it. She’d returned from her debacle with Drogo with a sense of purpose. The pain she’d endured there, the strength she’d found in herself, she channeled it. She wondered where that woman was now. 

That woman died on the pavement to a stab wound to the chest. 

She sipped her tea, her voice quiet. “My friend was rescued from human trafficking when she was a teenager. I met her after I saw some of it for myself. I decided it was what I wanted to do. So I did it.” 

“Noble.” He stopped, just before the Christmas tree lot, his hands in his pockets and his eyes questioning. “Why did you stop?”

“No reason.” All the reasons. “It’s done.”

He entered the lot and she found herself following. It was growing dark and the lights that strung overhead were twinkling in the light breeze. They cast everything in an odd fairy-like glow. It looked like all the trees were sparkling, ice and snow still on their needles. She stopped before a large Douglas fir as he walked around it, studying it. “You said you were hurt,” he murmured, reaching in to hold the tree up a bit from where it was leaned against a post, checking out the trunk. He rested it back, gesturing before he kept walking. “It’s crooked.”

I hadn’t noticed. She blinked a few times and it tumbled beyond her lips before she could catch herself. “I was attacked last year.” 

They were the only ones here. Or it seemed like they were. In a corner of the lot, surrounded by the trees, everything muffled around them. It was like they were in a forest instead of the middle of a major city. He was standing so close to her she could smell whatever shampoo he used, could smell cinnamon gum and pine and…and what felt like the woods. Comfort and flannel and a cozy fire. Her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned closer to him. He reached his hand up and lightly brushed his fingers over her cheek. “You don’t want to talk about it,” he murmured. 

No she didn’t. She never wanted to talk about it. Except she did. “I don’t know,” she chose to say. 

His thumb skimmed across her cheekbone; a shiver went down her spine. This was a man she barely knew and here she was standing with him, alone and far from what felt like anyone in the world, and she wanted to spill everything. _Why?_ She couldn’t even say it to herself, here she was wanting to tell a stranger. He dropped his hand from her face, her cheek going cold at the lost of warmth. “Whatever happened to you…maybe look at it as a wakeup call. Go back to what you did before, if it made you…fulfilled.”

She squinted at him in the dying sun. The shadows cast from the lights and the glow moved over his face. “Are you always this…honorable?”

“I’m not,” he whispered.

Could have fooled me. She smirked. “You said you went to the Wall…I don’t see it.”

The darkness settled in his eyes. It should have frightened her, had her running away, but she couldn’t move her feet. There was nothing about him that frightened her, but it should. “There are dark sides to everyone,” he said. “You just have to keep it from winning.”

“And did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Keep it from winning.”

Instead of answering, he cocked his head again. Blinked. He smiled, that almost too pretty smile that didn’t meet his eyes, but caused them to crinkle anyway. His voice husky. “Did you?”

I don’t know. It scared her. It scared her how close she was to this man. How much she wanted to tell him and talk to him. Her eyes dropped to his lips. How much she wanted to kiss him. She pushed the cup of tea at his hands. “I have to go,” she stammered. She couldn’t do this. She spun away and hurried from the lot, blowing through the village and to the store, yanking off the arms of her coat as she stalked by Tyrion, who was eyeing her warily. “I know I’m over ten minutes of break, I don’t care.”

“You alright Daenerys?”

Only Tyrion would call her by her full name. She rolled her eyes where he couldn’t see her, shoving her dumb hat back on her head, fixing her hair and turning, pretending to smile at him. “I’m fine, why do you care?”

He arched his eyebrows, silently giving her a _Really?_ Yeah, yeah, yeah, it was Tyrion. She sighed. He shook his head a little and hefted the binder he was holding under his arm. “I’m going upstairs to go over these books. Gods know if my sister even bothered.” He studied her for another moment. “You are aware you are welcome to stay at the apartment upstairs.”

The apartment where Rhaegar used to stay? No thank you. She didn’t want anything from these people. Except this job but even that she wasn’t sure she wanted anymore. She wouldn’t have it for long anyways. “I don’t want to stay here any longer than I already have to,” she mumbled.

He frowned. Voice dropped. Concern seeping into his words. “Is this how you want to continue living your life Daenerys?”

“Leave me alone Tyrion.” She grabbed a candy-cane from the box by the register, ripping the cellophane off and sticking it in her mouth, just to give her hands something to hold. “You’re not my shrink. You give shitty advice anyways.”

“No, I’m not your shrink, but I do like to think I am your friend.”

She glared down at him. “Friends don’t sign the others’ paychecks or steal their family’s companies.” It was a stupid comeback. It still made her feel better.

“That was my family, not me.”

“And yet all I see is Lannister.” She glanced up at the ringing bell above the door, Jaime coming in, holding the hand of one of Cersei’s children, sweet Tommen. She shorted. “Go deal with your family.” She moved away from him and grabbed a box of ornaments to add to one of the trees in the front window, to replace the ones people had purchased. 

A surge of people visited the store during the “Father Christmas Hours” when Jaime pretended to care at all the crying, screaming, and sniveling children demanding he give them presents and some who kept trying to rip off the beard, testing to see if he was truly Father Christmas. She found glee in his discomfort, only doing it because Cersei asked him. Dumb fuck, she thought with a grin, leaving him to his misery.

A few hours later, near closing, she was chatting with a small boy with wild curly auburn hair and bright blue eyes. “Oh yeah,” she mostly just said as he kept saying all he wanted for Christmas that year. She nodded absently, taking the credit card from the man she assumed was his father. He had similar auburn hair and blue eyes. She glanced at the name before she scanned it, frowning. “Robb Stark?” 

“That’s me,” the man said with a quick smile. He had a thick Northern brogue, as did the young boy. 

She handed him the card after scanning it and waited for the transaction to finish on the computer screen. “Like Stark Enterprises? The whiskey and all that?”

He ducked his head, slightly embarrassed she supposed. “Yeah, kind of like that.”

“Kind of like that or just like that?”

“Just like that,” he laughed. He took the slip of paper she handed as well as a candy-cane shaped pen to scribble his name on the bottom line. He nodded to the little boy. “Come on Rickon, grab that bag.” 

“Rickon?” she said, smiling down at him. He was really sweet. She ran her tongue over her teeth, allowing herself a brief moment. She might have a son his age if…she pushed the thought away and turned, grabbing the box of candy-canes from beneath the counter. “Tell you what, you’re being so well behaved among all these demons, how about you get your pick of peppermint?” She pointed to the red and green striped ones. “Those are mint and these…” She pointed to another set, wiggling her fingers and grinning. “Are actually just cinnamon. My favorite.”

The little boy, Rickon, grinned and revealed a few missing teeth. “Can I?” he asked, glancing up at Robb. Robb nodded with a brief smile and Rickon snatched up one of the canes. His fingers wiggled over the peppermint ones, but held back. She winked and nodded, giving him permission to take another. He giggled and grabbed one more, immediately unwrapping and sticking the treat in his mouth.

She glanced up at Robb. “So you’re his…brother?” She knew Jon referred to Stark Enterprises as his family, but he hadn’t mentioned having a nephew. Maybe just brothers. 

“He’s my brother!” Rickon confirmed, shouting. 

She gestured to him, putting it together and smiling. “I think…I think I know your brother.”

“Me!”

Robb ruffled Rickon’s hair, glancing at her, curious. “I have this one and another brother. You know Bran?”

Maybe he meant cousin then, but Jon referred to them as his brothers. She frowned a little. “I know Jon.”

She wasn’t sure what it was she said, all that she knew Jon, but Robb’s blue eyes darkened, his smile faltered, and a shadow crossed over. He grabbed the other bag from the counter and took the receipt she still held in her hands. “Thanks for the candy,” he said, turning away. She frowned. _What the seven hells was that about?_

The little one, Rickon, jumped and waved, still sucking on his candy. She smiled, in spite of herself, and lifted her hand in a small wave as well. She glanced at the slip of paper. _Robb Stark._ She didn’t know what to make of his reaction to her comment on his brother, but she guessed it didn’t matter. She shoved the slip into the slot of the register drawer for credit card receipts, moving to take the next customer.

~/~/~/~

It should not have surprised her when she locked up and turned around that Jon was waiting for her in the square. She was irritated by his presence. After what happened earlier and the way his family reacted…she wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to him. She leaned back on her left leg, her right cocking out and her arms crossing over her chest, somewhat defiant. “You,” she growled.

“Me.”

“You just show up out of nowhere, huh?”

“Something like that.” He began to walk with her, clearly ignoring her irritation. He had his dark curls pulled back in that _stupid_ bun. She hated how much she liked it. “I remember you saying you were staying on someone’s couch.”

Did I? She didn’t remember that. “Yeah, my friend. I can’t be there for too long.”

“I may have a place for you then.” 

She stopped hard. “No way,” she blurted. She waved her finger between the two of them. “I am not staying at your place. You can just sod off if that’s the case.”

He laughed. “Wow, think of yourself much? No it’s a friend.” He smirked. “Although it’s nice to know you’ve thought of my place.”

Her cheeks flushed. He did have her there. She scowled. “Oh fuck off.” He kept laughing as she walked away from him, heading down the sidewalk. He chased after her, nudging her shoulder with his. “You always this touchy?”

“Always.”

He kept up after her. “So where’s Drogon?”

“My friend’s house. I guess I’ll get him tomorrow.” If he was taking her to this new place. She pushed at his shoulder, a little harder. So he pushed back. Instead of getting angry, she felt her lips pulling in a smile, although her mind didn’t want to engage. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him grin. She poked at his side and he flinched, but not in pain. Even in the light from the streetlamps, she could see the laughter. 

They walked in silence for a few more blocks, until she finally pushed against him, digging her fingertips into his side. A high giggle pulled from him and she found herself laughing. Gods, when did she last laugh? She ran down the street, turning and throwing her arms out to her sides, grinning. “What’re you gonna’ do?”

The threat was there. The challenge thrown. She laughed and took off down the sidewalk, glad she’d exchanged the platforms for her boots, looking over her shoulder for a brief moment to see him chasing her. This could look really bad if the wrong person was watching, she thought, ducking into a small green space and grabbing hold of a handful of snow. She barely had time to pack it before she fell sideways, shrieking as cold wet hit her head. She gaped at him. “How did you do that so fast!?”

“I grew up in the north,” he said by way of explanation, packing another snowball before she could even get another hunk of snow in her cold hands. He had a one-up, he was wearing his fingerless gloves again and she’d forgotten her gloves that morning. She cursed her forgetfulness, but how was she supposed to know she was going to end up in a snowball fight at nighttime? 

Another ball hit her in the small of her back and he darted behind a tree when she finally managed to fling one hat him, it practically disintegrated int eh air. She let out a dragon-like roar in frustration. “How is this not working?” she demanded, trying to get more ammunition together.

Once she had another formed, she decided to just go for the charge, running after him and leaping onto his back, shoving the snow down the back of his coat. He wriggled and laughed, letting out very undignified squeals. She had her arms around his neck, leaning around to peer down at his face, which turned to look up at her. Their lips were hovering very close. She glanced at his. They were full and soft. His eyes searching. Silently questioning. She barely nodded her head and fell carefully back to the ground, his arm looped through hers, drawing her close. _Damn, this was not supposed to happen._

None of this was supposed to happen, she thought, eyes fluttering shut as he leaned in closer. She swallowed hard and her hand reached up to touch at his jaw. How was he so warm, she wondered, just before he dropped his mouth over hers. It was not what she imagined kissing him would be like. Of course, she wasn’t sure if she had ever imagined kissing him. Except yes, she had. She had thought about it, in her unsleeping moments lying on Missy’s couch, wondering if she would see him again.

Aw fuck, she thought, moaning softly as his lips brushed hers. It was gentle and soft and so sweet. Except she didn’t want sweet. So she gripped at the back of his head, messing up the bun and pulling the silky strands. It was a trigger for him and suddenly she was gasping as he all but lifted her from the ground, arms tight around her waist. It had been so long. It felt so good. 

It ended before she wanted it to. She blinked and smiled, like a stupid fool. “You’re not bad at that,” she murmured. 

He arched an eyebrow. “Snowball fights?”

“Those too.” She giggled. Good gods, she fucking giggled. When was the last time that had happened? She dropped back to her feet. Flicked her eyes over to his again. It seemed this strange man and his strange life had somehow found its way into hers. She dug the toe of her boot into the snow, watching as it melted upon contact with the leather. “I met your brother today. Two of them.” He was in the middle of putting a piece of gum into his mouth. Cinnamon. She pointed to it, smiling. “You’re quitting. Cigarettes.” 

Whatever he was going to say to that, he didn’t. He just bit on the piece of gum and put the pack back into his pocket. “Which brother?”

“Robb and Rickon. Rickon’s cute. I didn’t realize he was so young.” She wasn’t sure why suddenly he was pulling away from her. He began to walk away, so she moved to follow him, brows slamming together, suddenly pissed. “What? You kiss me and then just walk away? It’s not my fault they came into the store where I work. The hell is your problem?” 

“No problem.”

She stopped on the sidewalk, hands at her sides. Of course. Of course this would happen to her. Someone comes into her life, refuses to leave, and then the moment something good happens, they walk away. They leave. She shouted after him. “Fine! Fuck you! You just waltz into my life and disappear whenever you feel like and now you’re walking away again!”

He turned around, his face pained. He clenched his fists at his sides. “I didn’t tell you all about my family because it’s fucking hurts.”

“And you want to know about mine?” she snapped. They shared something the last couple of days. Whatever it was, she had no idea, but it was _something._ She shook her head, gripping her arms around herself in comfort. Not just for herself but against the cold that began to blow around them. 

“Fine,” he bit. He looked up at the dark sky and then back down to her. “I have three brothers and two sisters. I told you my dad…uncle…whatever. He died last year. I haven’t…haven’t spoken to them since.”

“Why?” she blurted, before she realized.

Guess he deserved that, she figured, since he was so nosy about her world. He walked back to her, hands still at his sides. He reached them up and rested them on her shoulders, gripping lightly and his dark eyes meeting hers. “Because…it’s complicated.”

Well she knew about that. She sighed again, tilting her head back and groaning in frustration. “Gods! You’re infuriating!” She pushed at his shoulders. “I barely know you and I’m…mad at you.”

He smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You stupid northern…man.”

“Nice insult.”

“Shut up.” She kissed him again, just because he had such a pretty mouth and she was tired and she couldn’t think. She pushed him away, turning around and continuing down the street. “So you said you were going to show me this place you might have found for me to stay?”

They kept walking and idly chatting. It was fine. Until he decided to try to get a little deeper. “So tell me about your charity.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” She felt her breath hitch. The pain in her chest began to start up again. She thought of the attacker. The person who managed to get away. Missy said perhaps the gods would punish him in the end. Ultimately it was she who was punished. “It did nothing in the end.”

“What do you mean?”

She rounded on him, no longer wishing to hear these questions. They were having a nice time. Why did he have to go and ruin it with questions? “It means I don’t want to get into it. So drop it.” At least he listened. She kept walking, letting him lead the way, turning here and there, and crossing the street when he moved to hit the crosswalk signal. None of this made sense. None of this was supposed to be happening. Especially to her. She caught him in profile; he was almost too fucking perfect. She hated him. So she decided to find out. Find out just what was happening and what his deal was. “Why are you here with me?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Means three days ago I bumped into you and now somehow you know things about me I haven’t told anyone in months…I know about your family and…and I kissed you.” Well, you kissed me, but she supposed that was neither here nor there. 

The strange man with the strange wolf and the strange smile merely smiled. “Guess we were meant to meet,” he murmured. 

She shook her head, disagreeing on principle alone. “The world doesn’t work like that Jon Snow.”

“Call it Christmas.”

“You can’t seriously believe int hat stuff?”

“Believe it what stuff?”

She threw her hands in the air, mimicking shaking him and taking a step back, laughing. “You can’t be serious!? Things like meeting at Christmas and having kisses under mistletoe and…and all that other shit.” The shit that they sold in the store. The promise of a happy new year and all the gifts you could ever dream. She used to believe in it. Used to think that type of thing was real. Until after. 

It seemed Jon Snow didn’t really believe in it either. He shrugged. “I don’t really think in that stuff, but…do you?”

“I used to.”

“Then just call it Christmas, you know? Just…” He lifted his hands up, signaling to the lights that stretched over the road. They’d be there until after the new year and then the city would return to like it wasn’t a winter wonderland. “Pretend.”

I can’t pretend. “Christmas is the worst,” she murmured. All her trust died on Christmas, along with a piece of her heart. A piece of her. She looked up at the small little house they’d stopped in front of, reading the small sign on the front of the grate leading to the steps. “Horn Hill.” She pointed. “The fuck is this?”

“My friend Sam’s place. Well, his family’s place, been in the line for forever or something like that. It’s really nice, old townhouse and stuff…they have a little guesthouse in the back. It needs a tenant.” He gestured to her, smiling. “You.”

“Well jon Snow, you clearly don’t listen to me.”

Worry showed briefly on his forehead before he smoothed it out. “What? Why?”

She snorted, pointing up to the beautiful home. “Because I live on a couch right now. I was evicted. I cannot stay in a guest home.”

“It’s free. They’re doing it for me.”

“I don’t need your charity!”

“It’s a favor,” he laughed, reaching to shake her lightly. He leaned in and kissed her again. It was quite distracting. Maybe he knew that. She broke away and he tweaked her nose. She made to bite his fingers as he pulled them away. “I have to go. Just knock and tell them you’re here for the room, they’ll know what it’s about.” He kissed her again, one more time, and stepped away. 

This was unreal. She looked after him, hands in pockets, and calling out. “Why are you doing this?”

“Call it Christmas spirit.”

Somehow she knew she would see him again, despite not exchanging phone numbers. She looked up at the house, seeing a small family in the lit up window. There was a sweet man with a ruddy face, holding a small boy and helping him put up window cling stickers of snowmen. She could see a sandy-haired woman in the background, rummaging in a box. They looked so happy. 

They were too good for her. 

She couldn’t damage them. 

So she turned away and walked over to a nearby park, curling up in her coat and slumping onto a bench, staring into nothing. It wasn’t that cold out tonight and she honestly didn’t care if she stayed here all night. She closed her eyes and ignored tears. It was sweet of Jon to do this for her, but he didn’t know her. She couldn’t do this. Next time she saw him, she was ending this once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to get into a better writing/posting rhythm with this story. Probably one chapter a week, which should lead straight through the holiday season. 
> 
> In the meantime, I do have a short multi-chapter Halloween vampire/werewolf fic I'm planning to post soon (it may just be them having sexy times, but Jon and Dany as supernatural creatures really should just be pure sexy-times). I'm a little nervous to post it so it may be a few more days before I'm ready.
> 
> Next time: Dany finally ends up at a doctor's appointment with the creepy Dr. Mel Sandre; Dany and Ghost hang out with Bran.


	6. i'm sinking along your side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany visits her doctor, Dr. Mel I. Sandre; Jon brings Dany to his brother Bran for some introspection.

_It’s that time of year_

_Leave all our hopelessness’s aside_

_If just for a little while_

_Just stop right here_

_I know we’ve followed a bumpy ride_

**Imogen Heap; Just for Now**

**vi.**  
**Seven Days to Christmas**  
**19 December 2019AC**

“You have got to be _fucking_ kidding me.”

The disappointed voice that was speaking overhead of her drew Dany straight from her sleep, jumping on the cold steel bench, which she’d almost frozen against at some point in the night. Thankfully it wasn’t that cold and her coat was pretty warm, as were her tights. She wondered when she fell asleep. She scrubbed at her face, blinking sleep from her eyes. She glanced up, bleary and unfocused. 

Huh, looked ike Jon Snow was standing over her. 

A hand shot out and gripped her upper arm, hauling her to her feet and against a hard wall of leather and warm skin that smelled like peppermint and pine. Oh, it was Jon Snow. _Whoops_. “Morning,” she mumbled, weakly, giving him a cringing smile. He did not look happy. Gray irises spinning like storm clouds and his jaw set firm as rock. He curled his fingers around her wrist, his bare hands cold on her warm skin. She knew he was pissed, but she really couldn’t understand why he cared so much. She swallowed hard. “Um…I run hot. Iw as fine.”

“It is fucking wintertime in London and you slept outside on a park bench.”

“I’m fine,” she grumbled. Even as he said it out loud she knew she was not fine. She rubbed her hand on her face again. She had to get going. She could just change into the spare uniform at work. She pushed by him. “I gotta’ go.” 

Jon chased after her. “You are insane, you would rather sleep outside in the fucking winter than take help from someone.”

The use of the word _insane_ set her off. She detested that word. She spun on him, pushing at his shoulders and knocking him back a step. His eyes widened slightly in surprise at her sudden defiance. “Don’t use that word. I don’t like being called that.” It reminded her of her entire life in school. Reminded her of what people said about Viserys. It wasn’t true. They weren’t insane. 

He clearly sensed her distress and unwillingness to joke around. His face softened and his hand reached out again, this time gentler, and pulled her to his chest, looping his arm around her waist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.” His hand came up and cupped her face. She felt her breath hitch and her eyes dropped to his lips. They were swollen; she realized he had been biting them in nervousness. He really cared about her. She was nothing to him, just someone he had flirted around with and kissed once, and yet he cared. She felt her stomach warm. It crept out around her and through her, warming her numb limbs. 

They walked back towards the direction of the store; he did not question where she was planning to go. He leaned into her, crowding her with his warmth. She found herself liking it and feeling fine with the silence. He glanced down at her. “Your cat probably misses you.”

My cat? She glanced up at him, amused. “Where’s your shadow?”

“He’s around.”

“Leash laws really mean nothing to you, do they?”

“He’s kind of more human than he is dog.”

“We’re sticking with the dog story, huh?”

He grinned. “Well when I say wolf then people tend to freak out.”

“I don’t freak out,” she murmured. She reached her hands to tug on her hat a bit farther over her ears. In doing so, her sleeve pulled back and he reached to lightly touch at the exposed skin of her wrist. She shuddered. 

He didn’t notice or he didn’t care, his thumb running over the fine lines of the tattoo inked on the skin there. “Dragons,” he murmured. His eyes darted to hers. “You really take your family’s history seriously, huh?”

“It’s kind of all I had for a long time.” She really did not want to get into discussing her family. Not when she was finally starting to feel the effects of sleeping on a frozen park bench in winter, her joints stiff and feeling wonky. She was hungry, thirsty, and her mouth felt like there was a sock stuffed into it. She felt her pocket vibrate, surprised her phone had enough juice left in it to accept a call or text. She removed it and stared at the alert on the screen. 

Nosy that he was, he peered over her shoulder. “Dr. Sandre?”

“It’s nothing.” Another appointment she would skip. She rubbed at her chest. They walked by the Christmas village and she paused, watching as a large swath of the park had been cordoned off, an ice rink set up in the space. She smiled. It was too early for people to be out, but she remembered when she was little and Rhaegar would take her ice skating. Viserys wasn’t bad either, he had played hockey when he was in primary school, but after Rhaegar died…so did any motivation to have fun. 

He moved his arm around her again, his hand resting on hers as she leaned on the gate to the ice rink. “You ice skate?”

“No, not really, but I like it.” 

He dropped his chin down to her shoulder, his voice husky in her ear. “You still think of me as a stranger, huh?”

“Well you are.” Except he wasn’t a stranger either. He was someone who had somehow crept into her life, one odd interaction at a time, and not even a week had passed and yet she felt more comfortable with him than she ever had with anyone in a long time. She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t be comfortable with him. He was a stranger. _No. This was too fast._ She broke away from him, stepping away. She looked over her shoulder and saw he was still leaning against the gate. “Goodbye Jon Snow.”

He smiled again. “I’ll see you later.” It was a statement, not a question.

And she didn’t follow up, but smiled and turned away, heading towards the store. Somehow she did not doubt that he would see her later, whether she wanted it to her not. She probably should be concerned, but she really couldn’t. Not now.

~/~/~/~

“Your Grace.”

She ignored Tyrion using her nickname, something he’d begun to call her when she’d thrown an absolute tantrum a few years ago during a meeting regarding the final divestments of her family’s company to theirs. She shoved another box of tinsel into the display case. “Lord Tyrion,” she finally said, when she realized he was not going to go away. She walked around him, towards the register. “Where is your sister?”

“Gods know, I stopped in to check on you.” Tyrion cut her off before she could disappear behind the register, placing his hand lightly on hers and staring up at her with concern on his face. A large scar crossed diagonally over from one side of his forehead down to the other side of his jaw, courtesy of a drunken fight he’d gotten into years before. She tried to get around him again, but he sidestepped her. He reached into his pocket and removed a piece of paper. “A Dr. Sandre’s office called here looking for you. You’ve missed several appointments. Your friend MIssandei also called, said she would be here to pick you up and take you if you did not go today.”

_Fuck._ She really couldn’t skip it this time. “Fine,” she grit out. She glared down at him. “Are you going to take me?”

“If I have to, but I think your friend should be here soon. You can go change.”

Thankfully she kept a spare outfit at the office, so she went upstairs and changed from the slept-in elf costume into black leggings, her Army boots, a black Henley, and a red dress she could not remember ever buying. She kept her hair down, choppy and tangled, not caring. She shoved her coat on and trudged downstairs, just as Missy walked into the store, eyes finding her immediately. She crooked her finger, silently ordering her. She sighed, walking up to her friend. “I guess I’m not getting out of this, huh?”

“Nope, come on.” Missy looped her arm through hers, dragging her out of the store. “You’re not running away from this one.” 

They went silently, finally arriving at the hospital. She tried to shrug off Missy, but unfortunately—or maybe fortunately—her best friend knew all her tricks, gripped her elbow, and took her up to the office of Dr. Mel I. Sandre. The woman was disturbing, with eyes that almost appeared red, blood-red long hair, and she always wore long red dresses that swept the floor, like she was out of a Renaissance festival or something.

“Dr. Sandre will be with you shortly,” her assistant said, gesturing for her to have a seat. The entire office was decked out in red and something told Dany it wasn’t because of Christmas. Dr. Sandre was adamant in trying to get her to believe in fire and light. It was an odd sort of medical practice. 

“Fine,” she mumbled, walking over to sit beside Missy. She glanced at her friend. “You can go, I won’t leave.”

Missy snorted, removing a book from her tote. “I don’t think so.”

“Did Tyrion pay you to be here?”

“Nope, he just wants to make sure you go, same as me.”

She sighed, tapping her fingers on her crossed legs, scanning the motivational posters that were framed around the office, along with photos of bonfires and flames. It set her on edge; something a doctor shouldn’t. As she was about to excuse herself to go to the bathroom, and maybe run away, the door opened and Dr. Mel stepped out, smiling enigmatically. “Daenerys,” she greeted her. “Finally, you see me.”

Not like I have a choice. She got up and grabbed her coat, going towards the doctor, at the same time as Missy. She turned. “I can go in myself,” she said.

“I don’t think so.” Missy pushed at her shoulder. “Go.”

_Ugh._ She didn’t fight her. There was no point when Missy made up her mind about something. She went into the office and sat down across from the large cherry wood desk. There were candles lit around the office and red silk drapes over the windows and lamps. A nameplate with the good doctor’s name was in front of her and another wooden block that said _The night is dark and full of terrors…look to the light and you will heal!_

Why was this the doctor that treated me when I came in last year, she wondered, but merely plastered a fake smile on her face as Mel sat down across from her at the desk. “Doctor,” she said.

“Daenerys,” Mel drawled. She opened the file in front of her. “I understand you have missed several appointments. We will have a lot to discuss.”

_Not likely._ “Shoot then,” she said, shrugging.

Mel glanced at the file. “Before I check for myself, how is your breathing going? Any wheezing fits or chest pains?”

“Nope.”

Missy laughed. “Yes.” 

“How about sleeping? Any trouble?”

She waved her hand. “Um…I sleep, yeah.”

“No she doesn’t, maybe two hours a night.”

“Are you eating healthy?”

“Sure.”

“Unless candy-canes are a new food group.”

Mel chuckled, making notes. “And alcohol consumption?”

“Sparingly.”

“All the time,” Missy corrected, eyeing her. She poked at her side. “I see that flask, you’re not fooling anyone.”

It was sometimes just a nip here and there to get her to sleep. Which of course she didn’t. She glanced at Missy, her voice firm. “Can you wait outside, please?” This was hard enough. She knew her best friend loved her and wanted her to be okay, but this was getting to be too much. Her chest burned and she felt the pressure building in her left side, where half her lung craved for oxygen. It was like the walls were closing in on her. 

Thankfully Missy understood, standing and nodding to Mel before squeezing her hand and leaving. The door clicked shut, leaving Dany alone in the dark office with the doctor. Mel studied her in a way that looked like she was scanning her brain, reading her thoughts. She shifted in her seat and finally Mel finished, smiling briefly. “You aren’t sleeping, you’re having trouble breathing, and you aren’t taking care of yourself.”

That’s the gist of it, she supposed. “I take care of myself,” she mumbled. It was nothing. Just her need to defy coming out. 

Mel cocked her head. “You act as if you do not want to live.”

“Sometimes I don’t.” It came out before she could catch herself. Her eyes widened in shock at her words. She was scared. She had never said anything like that before. Hadn’t felt it like that before. Her fingers clutched at her coat, draped over her knees, and began to pull at the faux fur. Tears flooded her vision. “I don’t mean I…I mean…”

“I understand. The light works in mysterious ways.”

She swallowed hard again; her throat was dry and sandy. Her voice cracked when she spoke. “I died last year. I was dead.” Her eyes lifted up to meet Mel’s intense gaze. “Why did you keep working on me? Why did you save me?” 

At the end of the day that was what it boiled down to and she couldn’t understand why. She had done what she could with her life, she had tried to move beyond Rhaegar’s death and the pain it caused her. She loved Viserys and tried to help him. She devoted her life and tried to help others too. The downtrodden, the unfortunate, and the ones that she could save. She tried so hard. She was kind and good and…and in the end did it matter? Someone had taken advantage of her good nature and she died for it. She came back and why? What did it matter in the end?

A headache began to form at the base of her skull. She glanced at Mel again. The doctor had been quiet. She moved to get up, clearly this was a mistake, but Mel’s voice, accented English from somewhere exotic, broke the quiet. “The light works in mysterious ways, Daenerys Targaryen. You came to my hospital, you had the light inside of you but it was dying out. Flickering. I merely did what I had to do and it returned.”

“But _why_?” she stressed.

Mel cocked her head, still smiling a little. “Because, I believe you have a part to play in the world and clearly the light does as well.” She tapped her finger on the file. “You were not the only one who they brought in last year, you know.”

The other victim, the one who had also been injured in the attack. “What happened to that person,” she murmured. She had never thought to ask. So consumed in her recovery and what that entailed, she hadn’t even bothered to find out about the other person who was hurt. 

Mel cocked her head, still smiling enigmatically. “The light works in mysterious ways, Daenerys. You have a purpose in this world, as does another. Allow yourself to open to that.”

Gods, she couldn’t take this anymore. If she couldn’t get a straight answer, she was going to just leave. So she grabbed her coat. “I’m done,” she said, pushing her chair back. “Goodbye.”

“I’ll see you in a month for your next appointment.”

Yeah, right, whatever. Unlikely. Dany stormed out of the office and by Missy, hurrying down the halls. She stopped at the end of the corridor and glanced towards the ICU, where last year she had spent over a month. She shook her head and made her way to the elevator, Missy behind her. She punched the ‘down’ button, standing in silence before looking at her friend. “Do you know what happened to the person who was injured with me?” she asked.

Missy blinked and shook her head. “No…I…the police never mentioned. I think it was a man.”

“I remember a man.” That was all she could see. The fuzzy image of someone leaning over her and telling her to stay with him, screaming for someone to call an ambulance and then he was gone…in life and in her mind. She blinked hard. She hated how she couldn’t remember. She pushed the heel of her palm into her eye. “I can’t think of what he looked like.”

“The one who attacked you?”

“That, but…the other person.”

Missy stepped into the elevator and waited for her to follow before she hit the lobby level button. She reached and wrapped her arm around her, tugging her against her chest in a hug. “You survived Daenerys, that is what matters. We all just want you to keep surviving.”

_Keep surviving._

Tears made their way out of the corners of her eyes, but she coughed and hid her face, leaving the hospital with Missy, who thankfully said nothing, but just returned with her to the store, where she forced herself to smile and pretend and play a part. It was all she could do right then anyway.

~/~/~/~

The last light flicked off and Dany went to the security panel to alarm the store, just in time to see the flash of white outside, waiting by the door. She smiled, not surprised, and punched in the code, waiting for the steady beeping before she exited, closing and locking the door behind her. “Jon,” she greeted. He was already waiting, as he’d said he would earlier. She knelt and grinned at Ghost, who rubbed his thick neck against hers, fluffy and soft and warm.

“He decided that you probably might want some company.” He arched a brow. “And I’m taking you back to Sam’s house. You’re staying there.” He lifted his finger, preparing for a protest, but she just couldn’t. He frowned. “No fighting?”

She was too tired to argue. “No fighting.” It had been a long day. A longer night. She would let Missy know when she reached this Sam’s house. She’d collect Drogon tomorrow. He was probably pissed at her anyway for not coming home yesterday, so she’d give her little dragon some time to himself before she showed her face and endured his wrath. 

They walked back down to the Christmas village. She really did have to admit it was pretty. It was a clear night, if they were out at Dragonstone or perhaps where he grew up in Scotland, they would be able to see the stars. “You know I don’t like Christmas, but this is nice,” she reluctantly admitted, surveying the new addition to the village, a gigantic Christmas tree with pretty shiny gold and silver ornaments, angels, and a seven-pointed star atop the highest point.

He took her hand and she threaded her fingers into his. “Come on, I want to take you somewhere.”

“To murder me?”

“If I wanted to murder you, I’d have done it by now.”

Given her track record around this holiday and at nighttime, she should have been more concerned, but Others take her, she was somehow wrapped around this man and she trusted him. _Fuck, Dany, what is wrong with you?_ “You said something about how you hated Christmas too.”

“I told you, my father died on Christmas.” He sighed and she felt the wolf beside her tense. Her fingers threaded into the white ruff around his neck, somehow drawing comfort from him at the same time she provided him assurance. His hackles went down and he continued to pad silently beside her, only now less stiff. Jon’s voice dropped and went hoarse, like he was holding back tears. “And my mother…well she died around now too.”

Gods. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She had lost her mother when she was born as well. What were the odds, in today’s day and age, with all the medical advancements that women could still die in childbirth? She knew the statistics. It was still a dangerous thing. She somehow found his hand. Squeezed. “My mom died when I was born.”

“So did mine.” 

That meant his birthday was around then too. She glanced at him, frowning briefly. “So you were born on Christmas?”

He chuckled. “No, but the day after.”

“Oh, it’s your birthday soon!” And also the day his mother died. She knew the pain that entailed. The guilt you were born under, knowing that if you had not been born, perhaps she might still be alive. They had more in common than she realized. She leaned against his shoulder. “So you really shouldn’t like Christmas.”

“Like I said…things changed.”

And what would that be? Because she really hated this holiday now. She imagined she would forever. It was the day she’d given up her trust, the day the world decided that she could no longer pretend that people were good and pure and she could help them. She couldn’t help anyone because she could barely help herself. She wished she could be like him. Could give it up or something. “What changed?” 

“Life.”

That was what he’d said last night. She blew out her cheeks in frustration, rolling her eyes and arching her brows. “And what would that be then?”

They came to a stop in front of a large old church. It was almost crumbling. There was a sign out front, telling of the story of how it used to be something called the Sept of Baelor, until a massive fire destroyed most of the original structure. It had been rebuilt courtesy of a pagan god the people called the Three-Eyed Raven. _Gods, Kings Landing is the weirdest neighborhood in the world._ She had never bothered to visit this place. She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not going to try to convert me to some tree gods, are you?”

He chuckled, letting go of her and walking over with Ghost, standing in in the center of the square by the main entrance. “I would never presume to tame a dragon.”

“Dragons answer to neither gods nor men,” she reminded him, quoting her family’s motto, emblazoned on their three-headed dragon crest. She arched a brow. “Or do the wolves answer to gods?”

He shrugged, his hands in his pockets. “My family’s histories say that they followed the Old Gods of the Forest. Pagans, to a point. I don’t know if I believe in anything these days, but…I’m not here to convert you or argue the merits of long-lost religion.”

“Oh shucks.”

He grinned. “I thought, for someone who hated Christmas as much as you, you might want to visit this place.” He gestured for her to follow him. She couldn’t help but admit she was intrigued. He implied that Christmas held as much pain for him as it did for her. Somehow he’d gotten to a point where he didn’t violently hate it like she did. She followed him towards the door, peeking into the window, where she saw tons of kids at tables, making crafts and chattering. Except they weren’t just regular kids.

Her heart lept up in her throat, seeing most of the children were in wheelchairs or had some type of occupational handicap. A couple she spotted had Down’s Syndrome, some looked like they were running their fingers over Braille books. There were a few dogs in the room, with harnesses and vests proclaiming them as therapy or companion animals. Her throat went dry. “I don’t want to be here,” she blurted out. She whipped around, right into his chest. “Please,” she almost begged. This was like how she used to be. Helping those who couldn’t help themselves, not entirely. 

He gripped at her wrists, shaking his head and peering at her sympathetically. “You need this Dany. Believe me.”

“You don’t know me,” she sobbed.

“I do. I know you more than you think you do.” 

_Why though? How?_ She should fight him. Scream and kick and punch. Except she sagged against him and stared into the room. They were having so much fun. Singing carols, some were munching on cookies. Ghost pawed at her boots. She looked up at him, frowning. “Why does this matter to you? What’s in this for you? You work with them or something?”

His gray eyes darkened. “I’m not like a teacher or anything if that’s what you mean.”

“What do you do?” She wanted to challenge him. To put him as off kilter as he put her. She pushed at his shoulder. “I’ve told you about my life. You get to spill now. What’s this to you?”

After a moment, he sighed, finally giving in. His arm wrapped around her waist and she bumped her hips to his, feeling a shock to her system again. She felt a flash. A rush of heat and her eyes closed. She could smell it. Peppermint, smoke, pine, and scotch. 

_“Stay with me. Hey, look at me.”_

_”Hey you, come here, put your hand here, keep pressure. Don’t let up, not even when the cops come, okay?”_

_Footsteps disappearing, the sound of a fence slamming somewhere, flashing lights and blue and red and white and then it went black, at the same time she thought she could hear someone speaking. _

_I’m over here. Over here._

She gasped, breaking away from him slightly and peering up into his eyes again. He frowned briefly. His thumb brushed at her cheek, a snowflake falling onto it, melting immediately against her flushed skin. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat, but it merely got stuck in her chest, throbbing. “You okay?” he asked. “It’s like you’ve seen a ghost." 

“Noth-nothing,” she stammered. This was about him. She pushed her finger into his chest. “You were saying. What is it you do Jon Snow? How is it you can just wander around all day long and show up where I work? You really a murderer? A stalker?” 

He briefly smiled, his eyes crinkling. _Gods, he was attractive._ “You really want to know? 

=“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.” 

“Fine.” He kind of shook his head from side to side, as if he were searching for a word. He shrugged again. “I’m in security.” 

“That’s not an answer.” She scowled. “Like what? MI-5? MI-6? Police?” 

“It’s called The Night’s Watch. Private security contracting. For washed up military men like myself.” She had never heard of such a company. Maybe he was a murderer. She was about to say so, but he rolled his eyes and grabbed at her hand, pulling her towards the entrance. She could feel Ghost’s wet, cold nose press against her calf, nudging her forward too. His arms were around her and she tilted backwards, her eyes fluttering shut. 

_Gods Dany, he is a perfect stranger!_ Except he wasn’t. She squeezed at his wrists, which were crossed around her waist. He was warm and solid behind her. She could honestly just stand like this for most of the night and probably be okay with it. _I am losing my mind._ Perhaps Viserys wasn’t the one with the mental health concerns. She felt sudden fear that she was also losing her grip on the present. “Why do you want me in there so badly?” she demanded. 

“I just think you might enjoy spending time volunteering.” 

“Oh and what you volunteer there?” 

“Yeah, I mean…” he trailed off but whatever he was going to say he didn’t. He just smiled briefly. “I volunteered, yes.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you just get Saint Jon tattooed on your forehead then?” Rescuer of screwed-up elves, finder of residence for said elf, great snowball fighter, volunteer with disabled kids…good kisser…_whoa where’d that come from?_

He ignored her comment and pointed through the window to the large fireplace in the corner. “See that boy in the corner, in the wheelchair?” He turned his face to hers and she could see out of the corner of his eye that he was pained. She nodded. The boy was actually more of a teenager, sullen and staring into the fire, his hands on the wheels of his chair, which was one of those smaller ones that just looked like a seat with wheels, his hands in fingerless leather gloves. His legs were bent sideways, in jeans and Chucks, but the soles of the shoes were still smooth and white. Unused. He sighed hard. “That’s my brother Bran.” 

Well _fuck_ then. She felt like an idiot. “Sorry,” she mumbled. She looked in on the teen again. He looked miserable, like he was forced to be there. “I thought you guys lived in Scotland and I’ve now run into your three brothers in the span of a week.” If she hadn’t survived death, she would have wondered if there was something bigger at play here. 

“The estate is in Scotland, yes, but it’s the first year without…without…” he trailed off and she knew he was probably talking about his father. It was likely too difficult for his family to be there, she assumed. She felt like that about Dragonstone and Rhaegar, after all. He heaved another sigh. “They’re in London for the holidays. My sister lives here with her boyfriend.” 

He had two sisters, but she’d only heard him mention the one. She supposed he wasn’t close with the other. “You have sisters,” she murmured, seeing if she could get him to give up some more information about himself. He knew she had two brothers. One dead and one almost dead. Thinking of Viserys left a pang in her heart. He hadn’t called her. She hoped he was okay. As much as she wanted to just forget him. 

“Arya and Sansa. Arya lives here. Sansa is…she’s closer with her mother than anyone else.” And he had a terrible relationship with his aunt, so she assumed he by extension wasn’t close with this Sansa person. He nudged her to the door; maybe it was Ghost too. “Go on in." 

So she went inside, in spite of herself. She shrugged off her coat, hung it on a rack by the door. A young woman approached, smiling at her. “Hi, are you here to help out? I’m Meera, Meera Reed.” 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Dany.” She caught sight of Bran in the corner and gestured to him. “Bran’s brother sent me here. Figured I’d go say hello.” Or something like that. She felt uncomfortable. Except a part of her also felt calm. Like how she felt when she visited the various refugee centers. The kids were a big part of it. She did love kids. 

She felt another page in her chest, only this one wasn’t from the gnarled scars beneath her breast and split down her sternum. It was from somewhere deep inside of her. An ache that filled her completely. She swallowed it down as best she could and approached Bran. He looked up at her, rolling his eyes. “You another do-gooder?” he asked. 

“Not particularly.” She used to be, she supposed. She sat down in a folding chair beside him, crossing her ankles and her hands, smiling briefly again. “I’m Dany. I know your brother.” 

“He send you here to keep me company?” Bran rolled his eyes. “My mother always wants me at these things, but I’m here because Meera’s my friend. She thinks if I show up I might I don’t know…inspire the other kids.” 

“She seems sweet.” 

“Her brother died a couple years ago, he had a seizure disorder thing, and so she likes to help.” Dany nodded. She glanced at Ghost, who wandered over and curled up in front of htem. Bran seemed surprised, glancing at the wolf and then to her. He frowned. “You have Ghost? I was wondering where he’d been.” He seemed to realize what that meant and lifted his head quickly. His voice quiet. “Jon.” 

Where did Jon go? She glanced over her shoulder, but he seemed to have disappeared. Maybe he was outside smoking or something, even though he said he’d quit. She rolled her eyes. Of course he sent her in here without backup. She leaned back in the chair. “Yeah, Jon.” She nodded towards the chair. “If you don’t mind me asking…” 

He rolled his eyes. “Stupid me. I was climbing an old building at Winterfell.” 

“Your estate.” 

“Home, I guess, not much of an estate these days.” He smirked. “Didn’t listen to my mom…fell and when I woke up…no more legs.” He rolled his eyes and angled his chair towards her, away from the fire. He folded his hands in his lap. “It doesn’t bother me as much as it did before.” 

She nodded. “There’s a lot you can do. I worked with refugees…some of the kids were injured in their home countries. Were getting used to living without the use of their legs or hands or arms.” There was a sweet little boy who had endured a chemical bombing in his home country. He’d lost the use of his limbs due to neurological damage from the bombings and he still had found a way to ride a bike with his limited mobility. She hadn’t thought of them in a long time, those kids. 

Bran looked over at her again. “You have kids?” 

_Yes._ “No,” she murmured. She curled her fingers into her stomach. The words tumbled out. “I mean…I did. He was born too early. Only lived a day.” My Rhaego. My little boy. She smiled tightly. “It’s a long story, one too sad to tell. I like kids though.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Shouldn’t have pried.” 

“You didn’t know.” She wondered if he would tell Jon. She was about to ask him to keep quiet on the topic when a little girl walked over to her, using crutches and her legs in braces. She leaned in, smiling and revealing that she’d lost a couple of teeth. “Your hair is pretty,” she said, reaching an arm to lightly touch it. “is it real?” 

Dany smiled; the kids at the center had always loved her silver hair. “Yes, just in time for the season,” she said. She reached to lightly curl her finger around the little girl’s red braid. “And yours is beautiful as well.” She remembered something she’d heard from a bartender at one of her favorite pubs, _The Wildling._ “Kissed by fire. That’s what some people say you are with red hair.” 

The girl grinned again. “I’m Lyra.” 

“Nice to meet you Lyra, my name is Dany. Would you like me to help you with your project?” It appeared as though Lyra was working on a picture of a snowman. It made her briefly think of her snowball fight with Jon the night before. She glanced at Bran, gesturing. “Come on Bran, let’s help Lyra.” 

He smiled briefly. “Sure.” 

She didn’t even realize how long she’d spent at the center, helping the children with paintings, homemade ornaments, and ultimately guiding their little arms and feet into snowboots and jackets, helping them to brave the outside elements when their parents came to get them. She left last, with Meera locking up the room and Bran wheeling himself out onto the square, Ghost trotting at his side. 

Gods, that was…_fun._ She took a deep inhale of the cold air and glanced down at Bran. “It was nice to meet you Bran.” 

“Nice meeting you too Dany.” He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes behind his glasses. “You know…Jon never mentioned you before. How did you meet?” 

How did they meet? She shrugged, her hands going into her pockets. “I suppose he just kind of showed up and never left.” 

Bran smiled, but it seemed sad. Almost longing and wistful. He wheeled his chair back, towards where Meera had parked a van, a ramp already extending out of the open door. “That’s Jon for you. There one minute…” His eyes darkened. “Gone the next.” 

That seemed to fit his brother for sure. She waved goodbye and wondered why Ghost didn’t go after him. He didn’t seem bothered by it and gave her another final wave, wheeling off to get into the van with Meera. She looked down at Ghost, who was peering at her with his bright red eyes. They shone in the light coming off the old building, tons of icicle lights and blinking colored ones sending the small square in front of it into an array of colors. 

_As if the stars were really shining on them. _

She heard footsteps and glanced sideways, seeing Jon approach. “Where were you?” she asked. He hadn’t shown up at all that evening. She pointed towards where the van used to be. “Bran already left.” 

“I’ll see him later. Did you have fun?” 

That was his plan all along. She scowled, but accepted the arm that went around her waist, tugging her to him again. She raised up on her toes, grateful she had on her Army boots instead of her stupid elf platforms, and angled her head, their mouths meeting at the same time for a soft, gentle kiss. It felt nice, she thought, eyes fluttering shut as she felt his tongue lightly pressing to her lips and she opened them slowly, allowing him entry. She felt the same warmth from earlier spread through her, thawing her. 

It seemed like they were meant to mold together, the way she curved around him and fit against his chest. She wasn’t sure what she was doing or where this was going, but it felt good. _It felt good._ And godsdamnit…she just wanted to feel good. For the first time in a year she actually _wanted_ it. She snaked her arms around his neck, tangling in his curls, knocking loose his hair tie and sending his curls springing out around her hands. 

They drank from each other, long and languid, as if they had all the time in the world. The need for air finally caused her to break first, her one and a half lungs craving the cold air, even if it still burned. She opened her eyes slowly and met his gray ones, seeing something there she just couldn’t understand. Couldn’t put her finger on. “Who are you,” she murmured, her nose pressing to his. “And why am I here?” 

Perhaps it was just for the universe and not for him to answer. Maybe it was just the pleasure and the heat that made its way through her system as if she’d eaten too many peppermints candy-canes. He kissed her one more time, his arm going around her and leading her away from the building. “I’m Jon and you’re Dany and…and maybe…just maybe you’re here because you want to be here.” 

_Because you want to be here._

She curled against him, walking with him in silence until he dropped her off at his friend’s house. One more kiss, a promise that she wouldn’t go back to sleep on the park bench, and he went away, but left Ghost with her. She watched him depart and glanced up at the front door, slowly making her way up with the wolf at her side. She knocked, a few minutes later, and before she knew it, Sam and Gilly Tarly were sweeping her into their home with warm welcomes and offering her anything she wanted, Ghost following after like his namesake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next week will be another update.
> 
> Next time: Jon takes Dany ice skating; Dany admits her fears and finally breaks down.
> 
> ETA: I know it’s easy to say it will be okay but....it will be okay! Check tags! Angst with a Happy Ending!! And Jon is...a Christmas spirit. In a way. You’ll see in Chapter 12. Chap 13 is the Epilogue.


	7. olden times and ancient rhymes of love and dreams to share

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon takes Dany on a date; Dany learns some information about Jon, both voluntary and a bit sneaky; Dany opens up to Jon about her attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew so I finally got an update on this one after being busy and gone most of October-- not sure when the next chapter will be, maybe in a couple weeks-- I'm trying to get most if not all of 'all life's a stage' done in the next few weeks so I can post on a regular basis. Work and life are kicking my ass at the moment, so give me a break if I'm remiss with updating for a bit.
> 
> Anyways-- enjoy!

_Sleigh bells in the air_

  
_Beauty everywhere_

  
_Yuletide by the fireside_

  
_And joyful memories there_

** _-Vince Guaraldi Trio, Christmastime is Here_ **

**vii.**

**Six Days Until Christmas**  
** 20 December 2020AC**

“You just must love working here!”

A fake smile, gritting her teeth, and her eyes crinkled up so the lady in front of her who had just purchased over 200 pounds worth of wrapping paper looked like a blur of what she hoped was fake fur and poorly crocheted snow accessories. “Oh yes of course, love it….looooove it love it love it.”

The lady just beamed, clueless to the sarcasm, and took her wrapping paper, walking off to leave. Dany rolled her eyes and slammed the register drawer shut, reaching under to sneak a flask. She turned, took a nip, shuddered, and screwed the cap back. Upon her turn back to the counter, she caught sight of Tyrion, who was giving her a disappointed look. She arched a brow. “Really? We’re going to get righteous now?”

“Really Dany? You’re working.”

“Oh come off it. You and Cersei drink all the time when you’re working.” The Lannister level of hypocrisy was something to marvel at, truly. She knew it was a weak comeback, but she was exhausted. She hadn’t slept the night before, even in the tiny guest cottage in the back of the townhouse she could hear Little Sam screaming through a tantrum and Gilly and Sam’s terrible attempts to stop it. The child really did get his way all the damn time. They were very malleable parents.

Besides, she had been tossing and turning, trying not to imagine her strange…_friend_? Was that was what Jon Snow happened to be? Or the stranger who showed up every so often like a ghost and made her skin heat up and her heart flutter like some stupid schoolgirl crush? _Gods._ She wanted this holiday season over. She wanted this all to be over. She had to start finding something else to do with her life, now the Lannisters were planning to take the one last thing of her family away from her for good.

Although right now she wanted to just get away from Tyrion’s look, the way he thought he was doing good and caring about her, but she never trusted it. He was likely just trying to figure out how to keep her from suing after what happened outside the front door last year and keep his conscience clean. “Well, we’re not the ones dealing with customers,” he said, wincing even at the weakness of his response.

One day my eyes are going to get stuck in the back of my head from rolling them so hard at him. She pushed from the counter and grabbed some candy-canes, starting to loop them on one of the garlands along the stair banister, Tyrion trotting after her. “Is there something else I can help you with Lord Lannister?” she snapped. She turned, hand on her hip and the box in her other hand. “Because you know, these candy canes aren’t going to hang themselves, gods forbid the people don’t get their requisite sugar intake this holiday season.”

He sighed. “You know you used to be really good at your job…until last year. Perhaps it was not the best thing for you to return this year.”

Their eyes met. The guilt-laden ones of Tyrion and the frustration-filled ones of her. She threw the box of candies aside, landing awkwardly on a shelf next to a series of Father Christmas dressed in Hawaiian clothes. She pushed by him, ripping at her elf hat. “That your way of firing me?” she snapped, ignoring some of the looks of customers as he tried to catch up with her, while she moved fast through the store, knowing exactly how to turn and curve and angle herself to avoid knocking into the hundreds of delicate setups and sending fragile items and Christmas trees flying.

“Daenerys! Come back!”

At the front of the store, she stopped, seeing Jon peeking into the false frosted windows. He caught her gaze and waved, gesturing for her to come outside. “I’m taking my break,” she blurted, snatching her coat and hurrying out, Tyrion shouting after her that he still had to speak with her and she wasn’t getting out of the conversation that easily. She had also already taken her break, but she really didn’t care. She wanted to see Jon.

The clouds, typically, were blocking the sun, but she felt her cheeks warm slightly when she exited the store and found Jon waiting for her, hands in his pockets, serene smile on his face. He leaned in and lightly pecked her lips. “Hey,” he murmured.

She returned the smile, her arms wrapped around herself, hugging her red coat tighter around her. It did nothing to keep her warm, but the soft kiss from Jon did the trick, her toes curling in her boots. She cocked her head slightly, a silver curl falling in her eyes. He leaned in and removed it, tucking it behind her ear. “You following me?” she murmured, quirking her lip up. “Stalker.”

“That’s me,” he chuckled. He dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his leather jacket. “So I have plans for tonight for us.”

“Oh you do?”

“I’ll meet you outside the Tarly house. You’re still there?” It was more of a warning than a question. She rolled her eyes and nodded, dancing on her feet against the chill that suddenly went through her, the wind picking up. It blew his hair a bit around his face, the rakish appearance even more pronounced. He nodded, satisfied, and kissed her again, quickly. “Good. I’ll see you around eight.”

That was pretty late, but it gave her time to finish at the store, get to Missy’s to find something other than her standard elf costume to wear, and back to the Tarly house to meet him. She also needed to check on Drogon. Tomorrow she’d drag the poor beast to the Tarly house, but for now he was content to stay with his Aunt Missandei. She chewed on her lower lip, lifting her gaze up to his again; he silently questioned her pout. It wasn’t that she was ungrateful, but…she sighed. “I’m really glad you got me this place with your friends, but…”

“Dany,” he warned.

She couldn’t understand why he was so adamant she stay with them. It was nice to have her own place, her own bathroom, and Missy’s apartment was cramped with the two of them and Drogon. Except…she wasn’t good for them. Her presence would just bring down the happy Tarlys. It was hard to explain. “They’re too good,” she murmured. He would never understand. Never understand that she was darkness and anger and violence; the Tarly family were too sweet and pure for her to be around them. They were just…they were _too_ happy. It was too difficult for her. “It’s nothing,” she lied, mumbling under her breath. She reached her fingers to pull at the collar of his jacket, the leather cold under her exposed thumbs. “It’s just hard sometimes to see people so happy.”

People with families and smiles and goodness inside of them, when all she had ever experienced was the opposite, despite her attempts to the contrary. She didn’t like the questioning, didn’t want to explain herself. Not right now, if ever, so she sighed hard, eyebrows furrowed, and turned it onto him. “You know you are starting to creep me out with your…following or whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Following?” he laughed. “Oh really?”

“Yeah. You just show up out of nowhere.” _When I most need you._ She shook the thought from her mind, not wanting to dwell. He was just a guy. Just someone who seemed to have the same darkness inside of him that she had inside of her. Someone she couldn’t completely ruin. She smirked. “Are you an angel or something?”

That garnered a laugh, his gray eyes dark and brooding, and his nose wrinkling slightly when he smiled. “An angel? I don’t think so.”

“Devil, then?”

“I am neither angel or devil,” he said, reaching to brush some of her hair from her eyes, flicking a stray strand away. He gestured to the store and took a step away from her, withdrawing. She saw the shutters closing in his eyes, the coolness in her voice. She wondered what it was she’d said that had set him off. “I’ll see you later, you should get back to work. That boss of yours looks pissed.”

She turned around and glared at Tyrion, who was scowling at her from the window and gesturing for her to get back inside. She looked sideways, but Jon was gone. She shook her head again. _Angel my ass, you sure seem like one._ Just appearing and disappearing. Maybe he was even a ghost or something. Or maybe she was just as crazy as everyone thought she was. She wondered what he had planned and went back into the store to finish her shift, but not before she stole another nip from the flask when Tyrion wasn’t looking.

~/~/~/~

It was wrong of her, but she had to know.

Once upon a time ago she used to have access to the same database when she worked for the child services offices and she happened to know Missy’s passcode to the system. It was ‘luvgrey.’ She really needed to change it up to something more difficult than her boyfriend’s name. Dany stared at the computer screen, the blinking cursor in the username and password field of the records management system.

It was entirely possible there would be nothing there. Except he’d already hinted that he hadn’t had the greatest of childhoods. Mentioned he’d been in juvenile detention. The Wall of all places. It was unlikely she’d find anything. She chewed her lower lip, unsure what possessed her to do this.

Part of her wanted to make sure she wasn’t imagining it all. She wasn’t sure what she would do if she found out she had imagined all of this. If it was fake and she was making it up in a way that Viserys did with certain events, defense mechanism and all that. Dr. Mel would have a field day if she went back to her claiming that she had created a man out of thin air and created an entire backstory with him. _Oh yeah and he has a white wolf with red eyes too._

“Just do it Dany,” she murmured, leaning over the computer. Drogon meowed, sitting beside the computer. The sound startled her and she accidently hit ‘log on’ just for a warning to pop up that she had two more opportunities before the system locked her out. _Fuck._ She glared at Drogon, who flicked his tail and blinked his golden eyes, unperturbed at what he’d accidentally done. OR maybe he did it on purpose. _Maybe he knows…_

It was just…she would type his name into the system and see what popped up. “Just do it,” she repeated, straightening up and shooting a look at Drogon to make sure he wouldn’t scare her again. He had his eyes closed and was purring happily, tail flicking and tiny toes moving a bit, making biscuits on the tabletop under him. She tucked her hair behind her ears and poised her fingers over the keys. She typed in the username and Missy’s password and waited.

The system flicked on immediately, greeting her. She went to the main search bar and typed in the surname. She went with ‘Snow’ first, since he indicated that that was his last name. Although maybe it was a nickname. Either way, she’d find out. She wasn’t sure if ‘Jon’ was short for anything, but again…she clicked on the option for ‘variants.’

Once she’d narrowed the search to Scotland, detention facilities, and all records, she leaned back, waiting for the computer to comb from the records, if there even were any, and give her the results. She gasped softly when one file came up, the thumbnail image of a surly dark-haired teen in the black uniform of ‘The Wall’ facility popping up beside the summary of the contents contained in the file itself. “Fuck,” she murmured, opening it up and staring at what filled the screen.

Words blurred as she skimmed through them, trying to take in as much as she could. At least she wasn’t crazy; she hadn’t imagined him. Jon Snow was real, not a figment of her imagination. She read through his initial processing, for vandalism, assault, trespassing, and grand theft auto. There were psychological reports saying he was smart, but withdrawn. She could almost finish some of their assessments, having seen it before, and found herself clicking through each one, drawn deeper and deeper into the childhood of Jon Snow.

_Emotional neglect despite loving home...anger management issues stemming from misplaced sense of responsibility…impulsive…quick to anger…tendency to protect those who others perceive as weak…martyr complex…recommended for military career…craves order…strong leadership capabilities despite unwillingness to be highlighted out of others…_

After a long while, she wasn’t sure how much she had read, she clicked out of the file, satisfied that she wasn’t making it all up, but her heart ached for Jon Snow. She closed the laptop, propping her head on her hands and her elbows on the edge of the table. Eyes closed and she wondered now what this all meant. Jon Snow had been in her life for less than a week and she’d kissed him, confessed things she hadn’t confessed to anyone in a very long time, and he had wormed his way into her heart that she had wanted to learn more about him and she certainly had.

_Fuck._ She pushed from the table, more confused than ever. They had whatever meeting they were going to have. He said he had _plans._ Whatever that was supposed to mean. “What should I wear Drogon?” she asked, only partly joking. All Jon had ever seen was her elf costume and maybe a sweater and jeans combination.

Whatever he had planned, he would have to make do with the sparkling tights she wore with her combat boots, a long black skirt with red swirls on it, and a red leather jacket. She raked her fingers through her silver hair, the curls snagging around at her shoulders. A swipe of mascara and eyeshadow and she was done. It was honestly all he felt like doing anyway. She shoved her hands into her fingerless gloves and tucked a thin black scarf around her neck. It wasn’t that cold right now, but who knew how long they would be outside walking around. He didn’t seem to have a car.

The front door opened and Missy entered, carrying a bag of carryout and jangling her keys. “Hey!” she exclaimed, setting the bag on the kitchen counter. She frowned, unpacking her things. “Did I know you were stopping by?”

A shot of guilt at using Missy’s database access to check on Jon went through her and caused her head to duck slightly in shame. “Um, no, I just watched to change…I think I have a date.”

“What?” Missy laughed. She ran over, flinging her arms around her neck and squeezing. “Oh my gods! That’s wonderful! Who is this guy? How did you meet?”

_He just suddenly started showing up like a ghost._ “It’s a long story, I’ll tell you later.” The clock on the wall chimed, reminding her she had to still get to the Tarly house for him to pick her up. So she forced a smile as Missy tried to get more from her, but she simply grabbed her keys and waved, hurrying out without another word, although Missy was shouting about how she needed to know everything and she wasn’t going to get away that easy.

~/~/~/~

In her previous life _before_ she used to be pretty punctual. Now she stumbled around, grabbing at her coat and hoping her hair wasn’t too much of a rat’s nest, managing to get out the door of the little guest house and through the yard to the gate. She really didn’t want to have to interact with Sam or Gilly; they were just _too damn nice_. The gate, wooden with etchings of flowers up the planks, whipped open when she undid the latch and she yelped, grabbing for it and hoping it didn’t make too much a racket to bring the Tarlys out to investigate.

“Are you bringing down the house over there?” The burr was thick, calling out over the street and she rolled her eyes, glaring at him. She moved beyond the dead rose bush next to the gate and corner of the house, and was hit with an icy gust of wind.

She spotted him, leaning against a lamppost across the cobbled street. He had his foot up on the wall behind him, and his hands shoved into his pockets, and with a slight lift of his dark eyes, peering through his lashes, she felt pure desire shoot straight through her limbs. She swallowed the knot in the back of her throat, chalking it up to the cold and maybe the prickles were just her nerve-endings coming to life from being in the warm apartment.

He glanced both ways before he jogged across the street; his dark curls free and wild around his head. He looked like he was about to go rob a bank, she thought. “Jon,” she greeted.

“Dany.”

An eyebrow lifted. “So, your plans? What do they entail?”

“You look nice,” he said, nodding to her outfit. He smiled cheekily. “Come on, it’s not far, but we’re walking.”

Of course they were walking. It seemed that was really his only way of getting from Point A to Point B. It was nice, maybe, in the springtime, but in the chill of winter she really wouldn’t mind taking a cab. Except…she sighed, looking up at the twinkle lights that were strung along the street. It was pretty.

They continued their walk and eventually she spoke, their standard fare. "So are you finally going to kill me? I mean, all this stalking and creeping and what not, you are going to do it, aren't you?" It was only fitting, as they walked down alleyways and cut corners, heading somewhere only he knew. It was a fun banter they had fallen into, so he simply smiled, saying nothing. She trotted after him, holding his hand, like they were in some sort of cheesy romantic comedy. Except Dany knew that there were no such things as happy endings, so she fully expected whatever this was between them to end poorly.

_Maybe I can have fun in the meantime._ It was a silly thought, one she did not deserve to think. She should have stopped whatever this was days ago. She never should have kissed him. never should have taken up his offer to help her find a place and stay with his friends. Except she felt something with him. Felt the same frustration at the world that she felt. _Gods she was trusting a stranger._ There was something completely wrong with her at that. Especially given her history. Here she was, Christmastime again, trusting someone who very well could just hurt her. Except...she stole a glance at him again, the dark profile he made in the night, his gaze cool and focused, and his dark hair whipping around his head int he tunneled wind down the alley. She thought of his dossier, the angry kid staring back at her from those photos.

Guilt at looking in on his past when he hadn't mentioned it to her beyond a couple of statements washed through her, but she tried to tamp it down, tried not to think of how this would end in misery, and instead just laughed when he swept his arm around her waist, tugging her onto another street. "Come on," he teased, still pulling on her hand as he turned around and walked backwards, his gray eyes reflecting back multiple colors in the neon lights of the pubs and stores they passed. She wondered how it could be that someone had gray eyes; she knew they were actually brown, but it was just how they looked when peering back at her. The simultaneous coolness and warmth. She supposed it was like her having violet eyes-- most thought they were so blue they were purple, but nope. Same as her silver-gold hair.

She was glad for wearing her combat boots, but her legs were chilled even through the thick material of her sparkling tights. "How far are we going?" she huffed.

"Not far."

"Liar, you said that ten minutes ago."

He made a face, pretending to be affronted, his free hand pressing to his chest as he kept walking backwards. "Daenerys Targareyn I would never lie. I'm the most honorable man in the world."

She laughed, speeding up and pushing at him, spinning so that it was she who was walking backwards. "Why do I not believe you?" _Well that's a like, he really was honorable, even when getting sent to juvenile jail._ She was about to say something else when she yelped, her foot catching on something behind her and her fingers released as he winced, watching as she helplessly fell backwards, straight into a pile of rubbish bags. _Fuck!_ "Aw, damnit!"

Seriously this is my luck and my lot in life, to try to flirt and have a good time, and then what? I fall into rubbish, she thought, closing her eyes and hoping the feeling of wetness on the back of her head was blood at cracking her skull on something and not anything else. She closed her eyes, sent a useless prayer to the gods to disappear her, but when she opened her eyes, Jon Snow was peering down at her, trying not to smile, but the sparkling in his eyes was too much. He managed a snort, shaking his head and frowning. "No, it's not funny at all."

"Fuck. You."

"I wanted to warn you."

"How could you walk backwards and not trip?" she grumbled, accepting his offered hand, which hauled her up easy. She winced again, reaching back to her hair and closing her eyes. "Please tell me that I'm bleeding or something."

"It's just snow. I think." After dusting her off, with only her ego bruised, he tugged her forwards again. "How about looking ahead as you walk?"

"How could you do it?"

"Special training," he chirped, laughing when she rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling and laughing. He poked at her side, before he wrapped his arm around her waist. "What's so funny?"

She shook her head, unable to put it into words. Even tripping like a lunatic, falling into rubbish, accusing him of plotting her murder...all the other random things they had done in the straight five days they had seen each other, and she still could not fathom just what she was even doing with this man. A perfect stranger and she felt comfortable with him. Felt something other than anger and hatred and loathing at the world and it's actions against her. Even the ache in her heart at the recent falling out with Viserys was not as strong. All because of this..._stalker_ she supposed, but Jon Snow was something different. Just someone who happened to be right there whenever she needed someone. _Whether I want him to be or not._

It was a shame it wouldn't last, she thought again, lifting her head up to him and shaking her head, placing a quick kiss on his cheek and bumping her hip against his. They walked in companionable silence for a few more blocks, until he stilled her at a corner, pointing across the intersection. "That is our destination."

Eyebrows arched; _oh gods._ She shook her head almost immediately, stuttering. "Oh no, no, no, no! Jon Snow! Did I not just trip and fall into a rubbish pile? You're going to send me straight to the emergency room." She rubbed the heel of her palm at the center of her chest, the phantom ache of the surgical scars reminding her of her experience when it came to hospitals. It was not a place she fancied being ever again. She bit her lower lip, staring at the sign as it loomed closer, his warm hand pulling her across the street, ignoring her protests.

_Pyke Winter Village_, the sign read, but what he had pointed towards was the ice skating rink, an outdoor space set up with a netting of sparkling white lights over the ice, already lit up for them. It was closed for the evening, but she was not surprised that somehow Jon Snow had a connection. "I grew up with Theon Greyjoy, his family owns the Iron Islands Water Equipment and Sports company, they do this every holiday season," he explained, reaching to unlatch one of the gates, gesturing for her. "After you, my queen."

She pretended to curtsy. "Why thank you, my king." _This is a terrible idea._ It was sweet of him, but she really did not fancy falling on her ass in front of him. Although, she'd already done that, so....she sighed. Jumped out of a window too, come to think of it. He'd been knocked into her more times than probably necessary. _Oh what the fuck, why not?_ She followed him to the little hut where he snagged a pair of skates for her, white with sparkling laces. Meanwhile, he grabbed a pair of hockey skates from underneath. She frowned. "No sparkling laces for you, huh?"

They sat side by side on the bench, removing boots and lacing up the skates. He jerked on the white laces of his, tying them expertly. "Growing up in the north you had only a few winter sports to play. I liked hockey, wasn't very good, but when I get a chance, I thrown on some skates and go." He smiled sideways, that half-smile she found had her stomach warming like she'd drank hot cocoa too fast. "So don't worry, I'll catch you if you fall."

That could have so many other meanings, she thought, finishing with her skates. She stood carefully. If she thought she was wobbly on her normal feet this was something else. She couldn't remember the last time she went ice skating. Maybe as a child when they were at Dragonstone she'd gone for some party or another with a schoolmate. She stepped carefully, her ankles quivering at the newfound sensation, muscles that had not been used in years straining as she stepped onto the ice with him, her hand immediately clutching the railing that wrapped around on the wall. "Oh shit!" she yelped, slipping a bit.

He laughed, letting go of her hand and skating backwards, as adept on blades as he was on the ground. He gestured for her to come towards him, but all she did was give him the finger, pissed that he had abandoned her. "Come on, just let go, and come to me. I won't let you fall."

"Promise?"

It was supposed to be said in jest, but Jon's eyes softened and he nodded, whispering: "Promise."

The wind had lessened a bit on the rink and it had sent his hair askew, tousled about his head and giving her something to grip when she tripped into his chest, his arms tight on her hips and hers clutching around his neck. A moment of panic went through her, her brain responding in _flight_ when she felt the sliding sensation in her feet again, her balance off. "I've got you," he murmured into her ear, wrapping his arms around her and holding her against his warm chest. He turned, the skate blades whispering against the ice, gliding them off. He clutched her hand, letting her squeeze it as tight as she wanted, unfamiliar with the feeling in her legs, the difficulty she found in steadying herself.

He let her pull away slightly, eyes wide as she held out her arm, laughing when he pulled away and kept his hand in hers, his arm also going out to the side, grinning at her. She bit her lower lip, watching her feet, taking careful steps as she grew accustomed to the gliding sensation. It was actually kind of..._fun._ She lifted her head slightly, just to see that he had let go of her. "What!" she yelped, lunging towards him. "Dont let me go you... _tosser_!

"Tosser?" he gaped. She nodded furiously in response. "What's with that insult? I thought you were all posh Daenerys."

"Posh? Fuck you." She laughed at the way his northern burr mocked her northern London accent. The fancy schools she had attended as a child tried to drill in the Queen's English, in the hopes that perhaps she would join one of the many young girls vying for careers with the royal family or government, but she just said _fuck off_ to that and had tried to run as far as she could, a silly young girl who wanted to do good in the world. So she'd escaped and the world had decided to show her in the cruelest way possible that that was folly.

They spun around in circles; she couldn't help but laugh when he stumbled slightly, Mr. Perfect, almost taking her down with him. She eventually grew bolder, more confident, and let go of him, starting to pump her feet a bit more as she skated around in circles, finding her balance and reveling in the sensation of almost _flying_. She remained still and shouted for him to do tricks, so he skated around, leaning almost sideways and touching the ice with his fingertips, cutting quickly and speeding up so fast she couldn't turn in time to see him before he made another loop of the small rink, just to stop in front of her, sending shards of ice and snow over her.

She gasped, blubbering the frost from her face, hearing his laughter as he sped off. "You..." she could not even think of a good insult, so she scowled, vowed revenge, and took off, not even realizing she was skating up on him, her legs powerful under her as she careened straight into him, knocking him against the wall, just to fly backwards as she hit his hard body, her arms windmilling around to gain her balance. Except she had too much momentum and before she knew it, she was flying backwards, her feet straight out under her and her skirt going right over her head, revealing her red panties through the fabric of her tights.

"Seven hells!"

"I'm fine," she grumbled, trying to get her skirt off her head, feeling Jon kneeling on the ice beside her. She pushed at his hands, finding that she was laughing despite the embarrassment. She gestured to the panties, dragging her skirt up and pursing her lips, wiggling her brows. "You like? There's dragons on them."

He shook his head, but she did not miss how his eyes darkened with lust. "You and your dragons, are you okay?"

"Other than a sore arse, I'm fine." She wiggled her finger at him, poking his chest. "Couldn’t let you think I was actually majestic on ice, could I?"

It was his turn to laugh and he stood, helping her back up. Instead of letting her go, he skated her carefully back around the ice, pulling her with him as he took the lead. It was like they were dancing. She held onto his forearms, looking up at the twinkle lights, the softness in the dark. The Christmas trees around them were also lit up and she thought they were somewhere else entirely, not an outdoor rink the middle of London. The breeze chilled her face but she still felt warm. Maybe it was the dragon's blood in her or maybe it was the warm arms of the wolf that wrapped her close.

They spun slowly in the center, coming to a stop, and Jon's fingers brushed at her temple, gently tucking a wild curl behind her ear. She smiled, eyes fluttering shut when his lips touched hers. The wild and darkness in him was there, but this was soft and sweet. She kissed back, opening her mouth after a moment to encourage him to move deeper. His breath was soft on her cheeks, puffing from his nose as he lifted her flush against him. They remained on the ice for some time, she could not say how long, sharing kisses and pets, his hands tugging at her jacket and hers pushing to feel the warmth of his skin under his shirt.

_I don't think I have ever felt like this before_, she thought, eventually pulling away at some point, her eyes fluttering open to meet his, which had been studying her for some time. He continued to skate, pulling her with him, and she smiled gently. "Jon."

"Hmm?"

"My toes are cold." They were stiff in the boots of the skates and she thought perhaps her ass was still bruised from falling hard onto the ice.

He kissed her again, swiftly. "Better warm them up. Come on."

"How did you meet the owner of this place?" she asked, as they skated to the side and he helped her off the ice, kneeling beside her on the bench to help her undo the boots. She wiggled her toes in relief when the confining boot came off. He'd mentioned a Theon Greyjoy, but she didn't know anyone affiliated witht he Iron Islands company. It was a big sporting goods store specializing in all things water and boating related.

Jon tucked the laces into the boots and reached for her Doc Martens, handing them to her so she could warm her feet back up. "I grew up with him, sort of. He was a bit of a rebel kid, his father couldn't handle him, so he sent him north. My dad took pity on him. Brought him into the fold."

"Sounds like your father collected broken things," she said, lifting her gaze to meet his. She smiled a little. "I suppose if I grew up in the north he'd have found me too."

Mentioning his deceased father had dimmed the light in his eyes, but it sparked back at the thought and Jon nodded. "Aye. That I think he would." He removed his skates and shoved his feet back into his Chelsea boots. She noted that it was a constant rotation of black ones, some with zippers and others just pull-on. He tightened his scarf around his neck and grabbed the skates, placing them back on the counter of the hut. "Come on, let's get you home."

_Do we have to?_ She nodded and stood. They walked side-by-side again, meandering through the city, chatting aimlessly. About his hockey youth—he was a defenseman of course; about her lack of coordination—she was more into books but could ride horses; his stint in the military—they claimed he was a natural leader but he didn't much like it; and her time overseas—gained her both friends and pain.

They arrived at the Tarly house and she did not stop when he followed her into the yard and across to the guest space. He filled up the small room with its little settee and fireplace in the corner, her things tossed onto the double bed pushed in the corner. She watched him kick off his boots and throw his jacket onto the bed, going to the fire and kneeling before it, setting about fixing it. She wasn’t sure what to do, so she removed her jacket and boots and went to the electric kettle, busying herself with making two cups of tea.

All she had was some jasmine tea that probably had been in her bag for a few decades, but it would do the trick, and she dunked the bags in a couple of times, pleased that there were at least two cups on the drop-leaf table by the front door. It seemed Gilly had thought of everything to make the place as cozy as possible. She turned around and offered him the cup, which he took, but set down on the table next to the settee, reaching instead for her.

The settee only served to support his back as he sank onto the floor and she went down next to him, staring at the crackling flames. The warmth washed over her and sent her toes crinkling into the carpet, a purr of happiness escaping her as she thawed out from the cold walk and the colder ice-skating. “This is nice,” she murmured, her head resting on his shoulder. His arm draped over her shoulder and she fell closer to him, eyes shutting. _It was really, really nice._

There were a few Christmas decorations in the guest room; above the mantle Gilly had placed a wreath and when she opened her eyes it was the first thing she could see. Gold and silver baubles, reflecting back the flames of the fire, washing them in yellow and orange glow, and for some reason all she could see in the flickers off the colored glass were police lights. She could still hear the sirens. She tensed in his arms, eyes closing. _Dany it’s in the past. It’s gone._

“I almost died last year.”

The words came out before she could stop them. He touched his fingers over her shoulder, pressing lightly, but was silent. She lowered her head down from his chest and rested it in his lap, her knees drawing up and pressing together. She looked up at him, and his dark eyes settled on hers, silent and waiting. A light tug on her curls had her eyes closing. He began to stroke her hair, still waiting, and she sank into the warmth that filled her entire being. “I don’t like to talk about it,” she whispered.

“You can talk to me,” he murmured. He pulled at her hair, tangling his fingers through it, and his other hand came to rest on her cheek, his thumb brushing over the ridge of her cheekbone. It was scratchy, the callouses on his hands rough against the smoothness of her face, but she found it comforting. She reached to touch his hand, squeezing it. _I think I can talk to you Jon Snow._

She blinked; tears began to fill her eyes and blur her vision. He brushed them away when they finally spilled over. “People get so weird about it…but I don’t think you’ll get weird.” She reached and tugged at her shirt, the buttons popping a bit and revealing the top of the scar to the side of her sternum. It was ugly, horrible and angry red still. He touched at it carefully, his fingertip circling the head of the scar. She hiccupped, not breaking eye contact with him. “I got hurt, you know that already. I lost half my lung. I almost died. I…I did die. They said my heart stopped. It came back. The doctor brought me back but sometimes I wonder why.”

_And that’s why people get weird._ They heard she died and came back and sometimes all they wanted to know was what she had seen on the other side. If she had a second chance at life what was she doing with it? She didn’t have answers to any of their questions, because she didn’t know. She still didn’t know. That was the problem.

His fingers continued to stroke the scar. She hadn’t shown it to anyone. Missy had seen it on accident, but that was it. It was disgusting and it reminded her of her failures. Or what she thought were her failures. “You want to see something,” he murmured, finally tearing his gaze from the ugly mark that disappeared further down her chest, before curving around her breast, jagged and angry. He lifted his brows, his whispered words the same as hers. “I don’t think you’ll get weird.”

She shook her head and wondered. Her hand let go of the collar of her shirt and fell to her stomach, watching as he undid the few buttons of his dark chambray and pulled the left part aside, showing her a very smooth pale expanse of his chest until…she sat up, her fingers immediately going to touch, drawn like a moth to a flame, staring at the angry sickle-shaped mark right beside his heart. There was another she could see as he moved his shirt apart and her hands spread over the warm skin, tracing each one.

There were six she could tell, making their way across his hard abdomen. “There’s a seventh,” he murmured, gesturing to just above his hip, but she couldn’t see it because of the jeans in her way. He let her touch them, each one in turn, wondering what had happened to him. It didn’t frighten her. They were sewn up well, she thought, but they were still there. Still reminders of a terrible attack. _Just like me._

“These were from a knife,” she murmured, recognizing them as such. They were just like hers. She lifted her eyes to meet his, seeing his slight nod of confirmation. She shook her head. “I was attacked with a knife. I still have trouble breathing. Feels like I lose a part of myself and I don’t know what I’m doing.” She wasn’t sure why but she had to speak. The words came out, like a waterfall from her lips, fast and slurring as she blinked back tears while she spoke. Jon would understand, she thought, he is the only one I think who could possibly understand. “I have nightmares all the time and I can feel it happening. Again and again and again. I thought I could trust people but I couldn’t and they hurt me and now what am I supposed to do?”

Jon dropped his head down to hers and she rose to meet him partly, their foreheads touching and their hands entwining over the scar on his chest. She closed her eyes tight, slightly embarrassed at the tears that would not stop, but he just brushed at them and kissed her temple, rocking slightly. _I’ve got you._ That was what he had said at the ice rink. It seemed he had her in more ways than one. “I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” he murmured. He tried to chuckle, but it was more of a bark. “I have nightmares too. Same thing. The knife hitting me again and again and it doesn’t stop until I wake up. Sometimes I still feel it.”

“I died.” She continued. She’d already said it, but he needed to know that it was true. It was real, not just a figure of speech. She bit her lower lip. “I mean I died Jon. I was bleeding out and everything went dark and I thought I could see people and then I woke up and…and they said that I was gone for an hour. I was dead for a full hour and somehow came back. How does that even happen? The doctor said that I have a purpose. That maybe I just don’t know what it is yet, but…how can I have a purpose? I was _dead._”

The laughter came, almost hysterical, until she began to sob. She hadn’t cried like this in so long. It shook her completely and she clutched his shirt, feeling foolish but also feeling free. “I helped people all my life,” she cried. “I thought that was my purpose.”

His arms went around her, crushing her against him and he rocked her more, comforting and stroking at her hair, kissing her tears and temple and she burrowed deeper. “I’m scared all the time,” she admitted. “I’m angry too. So fucking angry.”

“Me too,” he whispered. _What happened to him?_ She lifted her eyes, silently questioning. He pulled at his shirt, pushing it back together, smirking. “Same story. Attacked. Mugged. Thought I was helping but…anyway, it’s not a story for now. Seems we just have shitty holidays.”

She laughed. “Yeah,” she murmured.

His fingers went back through her hair and she rested her head in his lap again. It was nice, warm and soft, and she closed her eyes for a moment. Just a brief moment.

When she woke up the following morning, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: December 21-- Dany tells Jon about some events in her past; a scary encounter forces Jon to confess some things to Dany.


	8. and in our world of plenty we can spread a smile of joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany tells Jon about Rhaego; a encounter in the dark brings back some of Dany's memories and Jon admits some of his past to Dany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I SAW LAST CHRISTMAS. GO SEE IT-- Emilia is a gem and Henry Golding is my new crush. I loved it so much and was shocked at how similar the plot ended up being to this fic when all I was using was the trailer as I outlined it. Not divulging anything from the movie, but this fic does follow similarly, but has a major deviation at the end. TRUST in my happy ending history :D 
> 
> And on with the chapter...

_There's a world outside your window_

  
_And it's a world of dreaded fear_

  
_Where the only water flowing_

  
_Is a bitter sting of tears_

_And the Christmas bells that ring there_

  
_Are the clanging chimes of doom_

  
_We'll, tonight, thank God, it's them_

  
_Instead of you_

_ **\- Band Aid; Do They Know Its Christmas?** _

**viii.**

**Four Days Until Christmas**  
**December 21**

The entire store was filled with children and she was going to lose her mind.

Dany knew it was not going to be a good day when she arrived to find Cersei in a mood, hungover and irritable because Jaime had disappeared with his _friend_, a woman she knew was called Brienne who was _not_ at all what Dany would have thought Jaime would be interested in but for some reason he had attached himself to the woman, who she really also had no idea how he met. Whatever the case, Cersei was furious, shouting about how everything had to be redone, all the ornaments on all the trees needed to be changed out and oh yeah, she had to do inventory.

_Inventory means nothing when the store is closing_, but she didn’t say that, she simply rolled her eyes and started to work, humming carols to herself and trying not to think about the night before, when Jon had shown her the scars on his chest that matched the ones on hers. The way that he hadn’t been disgusted or surprised at what she’d revealed. He had only been understanding, to a point she hadn’t quite understood herself. Jon Snow was something else entirely.

And he shared a similar story to her, she thought, remembering how he’d kind of blown off the way he’d received his scars. He was as damaged as her, she thought, it was just hidden deeper. She wanted to find him, but he’d disappeared. She’d be lying if she said it hadn’t hurt her. She’d wanted to wake up with him, with those strong and protective arms wrapped around her, shielding her from the rest of the world. From the evil that had touched them both at a time of the year when all evil should hide, just for a few days.

Except the world didn’t work that way, she knew that firsthand. She had shown up here for what? For Cersei to scream at her, for customers to yell at her like it was _her_ fault that _they_ hadn’t bothered to check their lights from the previous year and they were out of the colored twinkle lights, but maybe she could interest them in the white twinkle lights? _Nope._

Then a bus of children showed up. A literal bus of children. She needed help, but of course she was alone. Cersei had disappeared to try to call Jaime. Tyrion had also left, because the children were shouting things at him about his height and she was the only one left and Dany really didn’t care if they broke anything, until she realized after the fifth broken ornament that she would be the one to clean it up.

She was overwhelmed, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from her forehead, snagging the crown of holly she’d placed on her head that morning instead of the requisite elf hat. Maybe she was feeling more festive than normal. Or ever. “I’m going to kill you Tyrion,” she muttered, wishing she had help, but Cersei’s son Tommen was supposed to be helping and he was hiding from the other kids who kept trying to torture his cat that he’d brought with him.

Myrcella at least, the daughter that had somehow escaped inheriting Cersei’s cruel tongue, was trying, but she kept messing up the register and needing help resetting it. “The cash till is going to be so screwed up,” Dany muttered, as Myrcella called again for her help. She plastered a smile on. “Coming!”

Once she finished with the register, she turned to clean up another broken ornament, but was distracted by a group of small kids who were sitting in the children’s area, hiding away from the louder, larger ones. She walked over, drawn to the ones who weren’t speaking. They were always her weakness, she thought, thinking of the other night when Jon had taken her to see his brother and the kids there. She bit her lower lip and sat down beside a couple of them. “Hi there,” she greeted, tugging her ankles under her, silently cursing her heeled boots.

They said nothing, two little boys and a girl, peering at her curiously. She tapped her crown of holly and removed it, leaning to place it on the little girl’s head. The child smiled and the two boys looked over, expectant. Not one to leave anyone out, she removed the fur ruff from around her neck and draped it over one boy like a cape and the other she bestowed the curled toes of her boots, which were simply wrapped on with Velcro.

He giggled, smiling softly. “Thanks.”

“You’re all elves now too,” she proclaimed. Her heart swelled; she smiled in spite of herself, in spite of all that made her want to remain angry and hurt. This was what she had done for most of her life and she had really loved it. She had been _happy._ She pressed her hand to her heart. “I’m Dany.”

They said nothing, still shy and she understood completely. So she took one of the stuffed reindeer from a basket beside her and began to line them up, eight reindeer and one with a bright red nose. They began to play with her, getting up and puttering in the small child’s space, bringing over the model train and soon the entire tree was surrounded with toys, a real Christmas wonderland. She studied the one little boy, he was about four. “I had a little boy once,” she blurted. She wasn’t sure why she was saying anything. She looked over at them, the three studying her. “He’d be your age now.”

The little girl whispered. “What happened to him?”

She smiled, fussing with the tinsel on the tree. “He’s with his dad.” _Gone somewhere in the sky, a star to shine down upon me._

“I want my dad for Christmas,” one of the boys whispered. He looked over at her, blinking quickly. _He’s crying_, she realized, her mouth falling open slightly. He hiccupped and reached to hug her. “He’s in a far away place. In the army.”

_Oh gods._ The little girl said she wanted a puppy, because then she’d have someone to be with her when her mom was working all the time. The other boy only said he wanted a family. Dany didn’t need to wonder why, because she finally focused on the shirt that one of the aides who had come with them was wearing. She was so stupid, assuming it was just a daycare facility. It was a children’s charity. They were all in need of something. Parents, siblings, a family…it was what she used to do.

She blinked tears away and wrapped her helpers into a hug. “My son would be your friend if he was here,” she whispered. “But you can have me.”

“Thank you Dany,” each one said, before the aide called them over to finish picking out their ornaments. To put on the tree back at the center. Dany watched them leave, her arms wrapped tight around herself, not even caring that they still had parts of her elf outfit with them. It was the least she could do, she thought, her heart aching.

She turned, seeing Jon standing beside her, silent as ever. Tears were spilling over before she knew they were even there. “Gods I’m a mess,” she laughed, touching at the corners of her eye, smudging her eye makeup. She sniffed, trying to smile, but Jon didn’t return it. He simply reached his hand over and touched her cheek carefully. She rolled her eyes, laughing. “I’m not glass.”

“I didn’t know you had a child,” he murmured.

She nodded, remembering she’d told Bran. “I told your brother, surprised he didn’t tell you.”

A sad shadow passed over Jon’s face, but she didn’t quite understand why. Surely he spoke with his brother? He shook his head and leaned closer to her, his voice a husky whisper. “Bran keeps secrets pretty well, if it wasn’t his to tell, he wouldn’t tell.” He cocked his head. “And you don’t have to tell either if you don’t want.”

“No I do.” She took a deep breath, looking over and grateful the store had emptied and it was just her. Just them. She wasn’t even angry anymore that he’d just walked out on her last night. With his arm moving tow rap around her, tugging her against his chest, she felt warm again. Felt the strength inside of her to talk about her son. She closed her eyes, whispering into his chest. It hurt each time she spoke of Rhaego, but it was only because she thought of him as only hers. She didn’t want to share him with the rest of the world, because the world didn’t deserve to know about him when it had taken him from her. If the world couldn’t have Rhaego in it then no one else did either.

Jon brushed his lips to her brow. “It’s alright.”

It was just the assurance in his words, the feel of the rigid scar under her fingers as she pushed them under the collar of his shirt, knowing he had felt the same pain she had felt at some point in his life. “He died, he was born too early and only lived a day…it was for the best I think. I was so young. I was married to someone I still hardly knew and was not in the best place. I was away from my family and when Rhaego died I thought I’d died too, but…”

“But what?”

_But I got better._ She took a deep breath, the overwhelming urge to cry fading suddenly each time she took a breath. It was fading away, the pain, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of Jon there beside her to help share it or because she was getting better. _Maybe I am healing._ “But I had to get through it, because I was alone and if I didn’t I’d have died.”

“Just like now.”

_Not like now._ Rhaego died, Drogo died, Rhaegar died…they all died and left her and she kept getting over it. She kept channeling her grief into other things. Into helping people. Into her work. Into what she thought she could do for the world to make it better and then what? She got hurt. The world showed her it couldn’t be trusted. “Not like now, it’s too hard now.”

“Except you helped those kids.” He ran his hand over her hair, resting it in the small of her back, gesturing to the Christmas tree with all the toys set up around it. “You helped Bran and the kids at the center. It’s not too hard. Not for you.”

_Not for me._ “But it is,” she murmured, obstinate. She wiped at her eyes and stepped away from him.

“Dany people have it a lot worse.”

“I know!”

“So what are you going to do about it?” he demanded. Gray eyes focused on hers, the same ones she had stared into the night before, seeing everything she’d poured out reflected back. There was something so _real_ about him but something so fleeting too. He stepped towards her and she tilted her head back as he leaned over her, thumbs brushing at her tears again. One soft kiss on her lips, a flutter of her eyelashes, and suddenly he was gone, with a vague promise to be back.

_Where did he go?_ She opened her eyes slowly and all she could see was the bright glittering space of the store, everything blinking and shining in its Christmas glory. She sighed; she should be used to him just disappearing but each time he did it felt as though something inside of her faded too.

~/~/~/~

Dany did not want to go back to the Tarly house, not after the day she’d had. She couldn’t bear to see Gilly, pregnant and glowing, with her happy husband Sam who would gladly do anything for his family and the love they exuded for their little boy, the sweet little boy who so clearly had parents that loved him, a warm bed, and all he could ever ask for. She knew it wasn’t fair, but she couldn’t see them right then.

She wandered off from the store after she locked up, arms around her, hugging her red coat tight, and wondering why she was alone, when in that moment all she wanted was Jon. She reached to tug the beanie cap she wore farther over her ears, bracing against the chill, feeling empty and alone. She came to a stop at the corner, realizing it was the same corner where she’d initially bumped into Jon, that first day after she’d crashed into him, from running from Viserys.

“Where are you,” she wondered out loud. She turned in place, trying to figure out if he was near. It seemed like she could sense him most of the time. Or at least she had come to expect that he was always there. She sniffed, feeling colder than she ever had, wishing she’d thought to put on a thicker sweater beneath her coat. She stood, staring into nothing, wondering why she was alone.

No one was around; not one single soul. It wasn’t entirely unusual, but she normally was okay walking around at night now because she stuck to well-populated areas. She shivered, turning and walking along the side of the small park across from the street, contemplating going in and seeing if perhaps Jon was waiting there for her. _Did I frighten him off earlier with my talk of Rhaego?_ She hated that she thought like that. Hated that she was missing him and she wanted him. She was feeling bad; did he want her still?

_No!_ “Stop it,” she muttered to herself, her feet heavy on the concrete. The thud of her thick soled boots on the ground vibrated in her ears, and she focused on it to drown out the sounds around her, reminding herself of the fact that she was _Daenerys Fucking Targaryen_ and she had gotten through in this world pretty well on her own. She didn’t need to rely on anyone, especially strange dark-haired men with scars like hers and secrets and a penchant for wearing black.

So consumed in her thoughts, she barely noticed the shadow that came over, and she froze, someone jumping from behind a rubbish bin to block her path. Her hands came out of her pockets, grasping for something to use as a weapon, but she couldn’t think, her reflexes slow as she threw her arms out to block the person, trying to grab at her wallet in her hand. “Stop!” she screamed, sobbing as she felt pain in her heart.

_Please, please don’t hurt me!_

_Searing pain as something went straight into her chest and all she could feel was warmth, but it was a cold sort of warmth, as though all the heat were leaving her body._

_Stay with me, hey look at me!_

_Put pressure here, don’t let go_

_I_ _’m over here._

_A man leaned over her then, he smelled of tobacco and scotch and pine and peppermint. His eyes—were they really gray?—focused on hers and she couldn’t see anything but the concern reflecting back into hers. She tried to speak, but it was difficult, there was a pressure in her chest and the breath was leaving her as fast as she tried to intake it. She choked, scared, and realized that her mouth was filled with a metallic taste, wet and hot. Help me, she silently begged, watching dark curls fall from around his face as he leaned over her. _

_He pushed something onto her chest and she thought he should have been panicked but he wasn’t, he was oddly calm, his hand pushing onto her chest; she wrapped her fingers weakly around his wrist, but he was looking away and telling someone something and then there were others there. She watched, unfocused, his image blurry but she thought she knew who he was. She wanted him to stay with her. _

_Stay, please, she tried to say, but she choked some more and realized she couldn’t feel her body. It was freezing up on her and she was scared. I don’t want to die, she thought, tears trickling out of the corners of her eyes. _

_The man looked like Jon, another thought crept in, but she didn’t know anyone named Jon, did she? Jon Snow, she whispered, it was Jon Snow. Jon saved me. Jon was there, but how did he know where I was? _

“Dany!”

A loud voice broke through her thoughts and she stepped away suddenly, realizing that she was shaking, so hard she had fallen against the wall, and her fingers were bloody. Her nails had cut into her palms, she was squeezing them so tight, but her knuckles were also scraped and her arms hurt, like she’d been swinging them. Maybe she had, she thought, looking as the would-be mugger was trying to run off, but stumbling. “What..what happened?” she murmured.

Jon had his hands around her face and she saw his lip was bleeding. He glanced down and shook his head. “Oh don’t worry about it. I bit it when I was running.”

“You what…what happened?”

“I saw you and someone tried to take your wallet…you were whaling on him good,” Jon laughed. He was shaking himself and she tugged his hand from her cheek, studying the raw skin on his knuckles. He quirked his lip. “He won’t be hurting anyone again.”

Her brow furrowed, still trying to piece together what happened. Why am I not more scared, she wondered, lifting her gaze to his. The gray had disappeared from his irises, his pupils so wide and black they drowned them out. He was breathing deep, a wolf after chasing down its prey. He was angry, it was seeping off of him, and she thought perhaps she should feel frightened, but she couldn’t be, because this was Jon.

Anger simmered between them both. “Why does this happen to me?” she demanded. She was furious. She wasn’t scared anymore, she was mad. She looked at her hands. “I hit him.”

“Pretty good.”

“I…I hit him and he…and you…” She felt proud _and_ disappointed. Mostly because she coludn’t remember it. She laughed, looking up at Jon, who still held her tight in his grasp. She swallowed hard. “I fought back.”

“You did. You didn’t panic.”

“But I did…I can’t remember…”

“You’ll be okay,” he whispered. He kissed the top of her head and led her away from the corner, across the street and into the park; the lights strung through the trees were on, glowing softly like fireflies as he led her to a bench set between two large pine bushes, also lit up so they resembled Christmas trees. He sat her down and knelt in front of her, rubbing her hands in his.

The wolf inside of him was still there, she felt it emanating off of him. “It was just a stupid kid,” she murmured. She squeezed his hands. _Why am I defending a mugger? Gods what is wrong with me?_ “Probably needing drug money. I hope he gets help.”

Jon’s brows slammed together. “Seriously? You feel _bad_ for the guy that just tried to mug you? After what happened to you last year?”

In spite of herself, she quirked her lip. “I don’t know Jon. I’m a mess. I hate it sometimes, but I still feel like people need help before they need punishment.”

He cocked his head, smiling as well, but it was sad. “See?” he whispered. He lifted his hand, stroking her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut, savoring the feeling. He was so warm. His voice, the rough timbre with the soft northern burr that sent her toes curling, washed over her, warming her further. “You still see the good in people even after what happened to you. You still love those children even though you lost yours. You helped those kids with Bran even when you didn’t need to. This is who you are Dany. You just need to see it’s still there.”

I know, she thought, sobbing and reaching for him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder. She kissed at his neck and pulled away, still staring at the angry wolf he was trying to force back into its cage. His hands clenched and unclenched, the rage still vibrating from before, despite his soft words. “You’re so angry,” she breathed. She dragged her fingers along his torn knuckles, lifting them to her lips and kissing lightly. He hissed at the contact. “Sorry.” _Please talk to me Jon._

He got up from his crouched position, sitting beside her on the bench and his arm still around her. She rested her head on his chest, trying to hear for his heartbeat. He sighed, deflating somewhat. “I…I went to juvie, you know that. I had…anger problems.”

_I know._ She closed her eyes, feeling guilty again for looking up his file. She nodded, glad he was talking about himself. “Okay.”

“I told you about my uncle raising me like his son.” Jon exhaled again, hard, his eyes closing at the same time. “I was never good enough for his wife. I took the attention away from her son, from Robb. I looked more like her husband than her son, I was the baby that everyone asked about. They were all sympathetic about me growing up. The poor orphan boy, Lyanna’s son.”

“Lyanna?”

“My mother.”

“That’s a beautiful name,” she whispered. It suited someone who could be his mother. She wondered what Lyanna Stark looked like. Maybe Jon would show her one day. _Gods, here I am thinking of a future with this man. I still hardly know him._ Except she did know him. He was spilling his secrets like she’d spilled hers.

He chuckled. “Yeah, well…I guess I was just angry all the time. I couldn’t tell anyone how I felt. My aunt always made sure that I had what I needed, but never what I wanted. I couldn’t be angry or happy or sad…I just had to be there. Be whatever I needed to be…I got angry. A lot. Got into some trouble…I just started lashing out.” He sighed. “And I ended up going to juvie because my aunt couldn’t handle me there. My uncle caved to her demands. It was all for the best. I got straight, I joined the military…and here I am.”

“Your mother died when you were born, like mine.” It was odd that even in this modern world women still died in childbirth. Her mother had had an aneurysm when she’d given birth. It had always been there apparently, just hit her when she’d had a baby.

He nodded, his fingers starting to stroke in her hair, tugging one of the curls to her shoulder and letting it spring back. “Yeah, mine died a couple days after I was born. No one knows what happened, she was just there and then she was gone.”

She closed her eyes tight, feeling his pain. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“It is what it is. I guess she would get into rages too. She’d fly off the handle and my uncle—not the man I called my father but his brother—he said she had what they called wolf’s blood and that was part of it.” He frowned, his voice quiet and echoing in the chill of the night. Dany watched him speak, savoring the way his breaths puffed out and warmed her. “So when I find people in trouble, I tend to forget what’s happening. It landed me in juvenile jail when I was a kid. More bar fights than I can count.”

_A dark alleyway._

She blinked hard, unsure why that came to her mind. It was like she could see it, crystal clear, Jon lying in an alley, blood pouring from him. She gripped her fingers over his heart, over the deep scar left behind from his attack. Perhaps that was why she was thinking of it. Maybe that was what happened. She cleared her throat, whispering, trying to force that image from her mind. “My brother Rhaegar raised me, but then he died and Viserys took over.”

“The one who is sick? A Dragonstone?”

She nodded; she hadn’t heard from him since she walked out of there. It should worry her. She was still upset with him. Upset that she’d had to try to raise him and herself at the same time. He was her older brother and should have taken care of her. He should have been there for her, but he wasn’t. “He has a mood disorder and he doesn’t treat it. We lost everything, my father’s old business partner took over and threw us out of everything, so it was just us. So I moved overseas and I ended up meeting Missy and got into the world I was in and…and you know the rest.”

“And I know the rest, huh?”

“All the pain of it, yes.” She smirked, staring ahead at a thin sapling trying to burst forth from the snow. It was trying, she’d give it that, fighting against the cold that should have killed it. _I tried to help people and the world shot me down._ Except she came back, didn’t she? Someone came and helped her and she survived. Survived like Jon Snow did when his own family was trying to push him down into nothing. Survived like all the other times she had survived before.

He rested his hand on her shoulder, finally stilling his movements. After a long time, quiet and only the sound of snow shifting on the trees, the wind blowing through and trying to chill her, but unable to get through the warmth of the dragon inside and the wolf wrapped around her. Eventually they got up and walked back towards the store.

She let him in, closing and locking the door behind her. It was nice, she thought, the heat of the small space thawing her cold fingers. She took him into the bathroom in the back, cleaned up his knuckles and hers, and then she picked up a box of ornaments, handing them over. He smiled quizzically. “You’re going to help me,” she said.

“I am?”

“I have to redo these trees.”

“These trees are so cheesy.” He hung up a sparkling parrot ornament on the one tree she’d led him towards, scowling. “How is that Christmas?”

“How is this?” She lifted up a monkey hugging an elf, laughing. “It’s all rubbish, but it sells and that’s all the Lannisters care about.”

Jon hung another couple ornaments. He spoke softly. “You are going to be okay Dany.”

_I am, huh?_ She nodded, watching him work, and noted the anger had finally dissipated off of him. “You are too Jon.”

The sad look he gave her was not what she was expecting. He stilled his movements, the pale light of the Christmas lights and the gleam from the hundreds of shiny ornaments in the shop throwing his profile into relief. It was pale, his angles sharp as carved marble, and the curls he usually kept tamed back left free, some flying over his head and others resting gently against his shoulders. He hung another ornament, touching it with his finger, stilling it before it slipped off the branch.

“I will be,” he murmured. He turned the ornament to her and she realized it was a glass-blown letter. In the shape of a ‘D.’ “I hope I will.”

_What did that mean?_ She was about to ask him when he chuckled. “What?” she wondered, distracted by the sound. It was so lovely. A rumble in his chest that filled her heart.

He pointed up above them and she followed his gaze. She smiled; she probably would have rolled her eyes at the cheesiness of it, would have protested and made a fuss, but she wanted to kiss him, so she didn’t need a Christmas tradition and a bunch of weeds dangling from the ceiling to give her a reason. She leaned in at the same time as him, pressing her mouth gently to his, warm and sweet. She smiled against his lips and stepped around the edge of the tree, to be closer to him.

They wrapped up into each other, the kiss tender, both of them seeking reassurance from the other. She was still trying not to relive the moments from earlier, the pain and fear, but she’d fought back. She’d fought back and she was here and the memories of the year before didn’t hurt near as much as they did before. She even thought she remembered some of it. She broke the kiss a moment later, smiling and brushing her mouth against his again.

He drew her lower lip in between his teeth and she giggled, snapping her teeth back at him, forcing him to let go. He growled a little, but was smiling again. “What?” he asked. “What are you thinking now?”

“Nothing…just…we’re so fucked up.” They were quite a pair. The damaged duo who were still trying to find their way in the world. She couldn’t stop thinking about that moment though. The image of Jon leaning over her. Pressing his scarf to her chest. Saying to look at him. It wasn’t Jon though. It was her mind playing tricks. She touched her finger to his chest again. Remembering the scars that matched hers.

“Matching scars.”

She nodded. “You have more than me.”

He shook his head, squeezing her hand and lifting to kiss her wrist, where the dragon tattoo burned into her skin, reminding her to be strong. “Yes but yours are deeper.”

They might have been deeper, but she was surprised to realize they were healing. She smiled again and wrapped her arms back around his neck, rising on her toes to kiss him again. “Come home with me,” she whispered. She sighed against him, head resting on his chest. “Please.”

And Jon nodded, but said nothing.

Hours later, curled in front of the fire, with Jon’s hand on her scar, Dany realized that she felt stronger than she had since the attack, she felt like she was finally remembering who she was. She bit her lower lip, squeezing his hand tight, fighting back tears at how good it felt to be with someone again. To have someone _see_ her. “Jon,” she murmured.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t go away.” It was a soft plea. She wasn’t even sure why she said it. It felt like he was drawing away from her. The way he looked at her wasn’t with the all-knowing he had in the beginning. The confident man was fading to something else and Dany couldn’t understand why.

He said nothing, only squeezed her hands tight, and kept his wrapped around her until she fell asleep and as she drifted off, she heard his soft words. “Don’t leave me Dany.”

And for some reason she both knew what he meant and was confused all the same. I won’t, she thought, shaking her head, seeing his face over hers, and seeing him dying in an alleyway, just like he said he had. But did it say that? She couldn’t remember. It was fading again, the images blurring and foggy in her mind as she fell into her first dreamless sleep in a year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Dany and Viserys talk it out and reunite; Dany starts to wonder about Jon as he pulls away from her.
> 
> [Upcoming: Chapter 9 will take place on December 22; Chapter 10 will take place on December 23 and most of Christmas Eve, but Chapter 11 is where it's all happening on Christmas Eve. Chapter 12 is an epilogue.]


	9. with candy canes and silver lanes aglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 22: Dany has an enlightening conversation, speaks with Viserys, and takes a step in the direction, but...where's Jon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY for the delay in this-- I've been trying to wrap up other fics and got waylaid. I am going to devote all my energy to this, it will be done before Christmas, just can't promise regular updates. There's only three chapters left anyway. I'll just say next chapter is a doozy.

_It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas_

  
_Soon the bells will start_

  
_And the thing that will make them ring, is the carol that you sing_

  
_Right within your heart_

** _-Bing Crosby, It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas_ **

**Three Days Until Christmas**  
**December 22**

Sunlight streaming in through the gossamer curtains was the first thing to wake her, flickering through the darkness beneath her closed eyelids. The second to wake her was the slight chill around her, the loss of the hard, solid body wrapped around hers. It had been so long since she’d felt someone that close to her, figuratively and literally. The scent of pine, mint, and leather lulling her to dreamless slumber replaced with the ashy coldness of the burnt-out fire in the grate.

The warm quilt over her shoulders fell to her hips as she sat up, fingers stroking over her shirt, realizing she was fully dressed, her boots propped beside her and a couple sofa pillows under her for cushioning. There was one mug of cold leftover tea on the table beside her, the other cleaned out and set beside the electric kettle. She blinked a few times, scanning the space for a note or some other proof that she hadn’t been alone, but he’d left nothing.

_Figures._ She rested her head back down on the pillow, quilt pulled to her chin, wrapping her back into the cocoon of the previous evening. Dany closed her eyes and tried to piece together exactly what happened. She had returned to the room with Jon, they spoke and she—she showed him her scar. He showed her his scars too. They kissed and she’d fallen asleep, but she thought there was more too. The images of a man leaning over her. Shouting to help her. Footsteps in the opposite direction. _Another victim._

_At least I didn’t sleep with him._ She was oddly relieved she hadn’t done anything like that, that she hadn’t tried to force something between them quite yet. She propped her chin on her hand, gazing towards the door. He’d left at some point after she’d fallen asleep, perhaps to get to work, but he hadn’t left a message. She sat up, shedding the blanket and folded it up to replace on the foot of the bed.

The quiet room echoed with a knock. She whipped her head up, heart thudding in excited anticipation. “Jon?” she called, walking towards it. She chuckled, not bothering to check, tugging the door handle. “Jon come on, you don’t have to…” The door opened quickly against her, knocking her back a step. Her voice dropped, along with her heart, to the floor. “Oh. Hello Gilly.”

Gilly Tarly stood with a happy smile on her freckled face, holding up a basket with more tea and a couple of clean mugs. “Good morning! I saw you coming back last night and thought you might like a cuppa’, you seemed like you had a rough go of it.” She stepped over the threshold and set down the mugs, collecting the others. “And I haven’t had a chance to really talk to you. I hope you’re settling in well.”

“Ah…” She glanced over the woman’s shoulder, hoping to see Jon, perhaps speaking with Sam or playing with the baby but he was nowhere to be seen. She blinked a few times, sleep clouding her mind. “Fine! Sorry, just…”

“Looking for someone?” Gilly teased. She stepped inside, carrying the basket to set on the buffet table beside the door. She busied herself with the contents, setting about making them tea. While she worked, she spoke. “I remember those days. Sam was always coming and going, we met at university. I hadn’t done well in school you see, he helped me.”

It was a buzzing in her ears, Gilly speaking, because she was thinking of Jon. Of the conversation they’d had. The things they shared. _And he just disappeared?_ She sighed, closing her eyes briefly, checking her phone. There was a message from Viserys. _Viserys?_ “Shit,” she cursed.

“Oh, sorry, I’m just rambling!”

“No, I’m so sorry!” Gods, she was being a right bitch to this perfectly nice woman making her a cup of morning tea. She accepted the warm mug from her, sniffing and smiling at the peppermint that wafted with the steam. “Lovely, very holiday.”

Gilly smiled, turning with her own mug, walking over to take a seat at the small bistro table pushed against the wall. “Yes I love this time of year.” She sipped, nodding to the phone, curious. “Someone you did not want to hear from?”

“Ah…” The relationship she had with Viserys was something that normal people need not concern themselves with. It was terrifying to say the least. Drove them away even in the best of days, either with sympathy for her or sympathy for Viserys, depending on who was throwing stuff at who. She took a seat, still holding the mug up to her nose, finding it so comforting. “My brother. We’re not…we’re not speaking right now.”

Gilly nodded politely, sipped her tea, and then began to talk about how Little Sam was so excited for the holidays. It was his favorite time. They always stayed home, you see, because Sam did not have a good relationship with his family and she didn’t either. They made their family. She sighed, sad suddenly, getting up and placing the empty mug in her basket. “Sam is going to have it hard this year. A friend of his got very injured last year about this time…terrible accident. They were best friends, even Sam isn’t sure how to process what’s going to be happening with it all this year…” She paused and prepared to say something else. “He’s…the friend is…gosh it’s hard to speak of it, it’s just so sad.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She stood, joining the other woman beside the door. It seemed that there had been some sort of rampant crime spree last year. She bit her lip, hesitating. There weren’t many who knew about her attack. It wasn’t something you casually threw out there. _”Oh yeah, last Christmas someone stabbed me right in the chest when I didn’t give them the envelope of cash they desperately wanted.”_ Although perhaps sharing her experience might…it had done something to her the night before. A weight disappeared off her. She felt like she could breathe. She closed her eyes. “I was in an accident last year. It’s going to be hard. It’s been hard on my brother. Hard on us.”

Gilly frowned. “Do you speak?”

“Not recently. We had a fight.”

“Oh, well…” The other woman frowned. "Far be it from me to tell a stranger what to do with their family, but..." Gilly trailed off, chewing her lower lip.

She took a moment to really look at the other woman. She had a wholesome quality about her, but there was a fierceness too. It seemed hidden, apt to come out when her family was threatened. She knew the type, the mama bears she'd worked with, who would do anything to protect their family. It was a quality too many people overlooked in a woman, thinking them simple or uninterested. It was one of the only things Cersei Lannister possessed that actually had Dany's admiration, the sheer love she held for her children, despite the fact that one was a demon and the other two were likely to end up equally fucked.

The other woman fiddled with the edge of the basket, her wide hazel eyes dropping to track her movements and her thick, almost Cockney accent forcing Dany to listen closely, to understand. "But I don't have much by way of family. I don't want to get into the specifics but my childhood was a right terror, Sam's not much better. He may have come from money but money doesn't buy love, that's for sure. We're lucky we found each other." She paused, head tilting as she pondered her next words. She spoke carefully. "But perhaps your brother had a lot on his plate, so to speak. His issues and your accident. Did you think of seeing it from that way?"

_I've tried to understand Viserys since we were children._ She shook her head, obstinate. "Vis does what he wants to do and damn everyone else."

"Perhaps."

Her nose wrinkled, brow furrowing. "Vis is messed up just like me and I can't try to fix my problems and his at the same time. I've been doing it too long."

"Did he help you after your accident?"

_He tried to help._ The tiny voice piped up. It wasn't much. She shook her head, whispering, unable to truly remember those days after the accident. It frustrated her, increasingly so. Especially as she tried to force the memory of the shadowy figure who came to her assistance. The mysterious _other_ reported in her attack, that no one seemed to be able to tell her about. She closed her eyes. Viserys had been furious when she brought up his abandonment of her. Of course he would, she was implying he was in fact _not_ the savior he liked to think he was. Viserys had a very high opinion of himself, but incredibly low self-esteem. An absolutely terrible combination, which resulted in many of their blow-ups and which resulted in this particular one being as bad as it was.

She shrugged, trying to play it off. Gilly was sweet, but she was still her landlord. Didn't need her thinking there was a crazy woman feet away from her child. "I mean...maybe he did. He just went off his meds. He's always going off his medication. I can't deal with it."

"Maybe that’s' your answer."

_Huh? _ "I'm sorry?"

"Maybe he can't cope with almost losing you." Gilly smiled, the gap between her front teeth oddly charming. It was nice to have someone listening to her. Even if the topic of conversation was her estranged brother. "I mean, maybe he did what he thought was best. Give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe."

Her brows slammed together. This wasn't anything she felt like talking about. Except her feet remained glued in place, her hands clutching the edge of the countertop. Gilly remained where she was, sympathetic and listening. _Damnit!_ Her words tumbled out before she could process what she was saying. It seemed of late she had become too trusting of complete strangers. "My dad died, we lost everything our family worked for, then Rhaegar, my brother died too...he took care of us as best he could." She sighed. If she was truly being honest... "We both thought Rhaegar walked on water but he was a mess. He had to take care of us both, we weren't prizes. He'd lost his family...seems tragedy just likes to befall us. Then it was just Vis and me. Vis had his demons." And she didn't know what Viserys saw with their parents. What he had endured while Rhaegar was off doing whatever it was he was doing, before he ended up becoming Vis's primary caregiver when she was born.

Gods knew that Viserys put their mother on a pedestal. Blamed her for Rhaella's death. refused to speak of what Aerys did or said to him. He'd been downright _pleased_ when Aerys had his mental breakdown and Jaime Lannister killed him in self-defense. He'd been furious in that their father was gone, but she knew Viserys. He'd been _relieved._ She rubbed her scar through her flannel shirt. She wished she could truly remember.

Gilly lifted the basket, smiling comfortingly. "It's sometimes hard to understand what goes on with our family members, especially when it concerns ourselves, but in the interest of the season and all...perhaps reach out to him? Again, far be it from me, but perhaps give him a call?"

Her eyes closed, the burn spreading through her chest. "It'll be one year…in two days," she murmured, more to herself than to Gilly.

"Your accident?" Her eyes opened. She didn't remember telling Gilly about the specifics of it. The other woman smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry, it seems like something happened, something big...you carry sadness with you."

That was one way to describe it, she supposed. She tried to smile. it hurt. She thought of the night before, of Jon's warm arms around her, encouraging her to speak of what she'd gone through. Encouraging her to face her fears and demons. Acknowledge that she wasn't at fault for anything, she just got stuck. _She was the one who was stuck._ She blinked at the sudden rise of tears, coughing to collect herself. Thank the gods Gilly understood and moved away from the counter, towards the door. Except she didn't want her to leave just yet. It was nice to have someone there.

Gilly glanced at her hand, still rubbing slow circles over her left breast, where the burning had begun to subside to a dull ache. She nodded. "Whatever happened to you...the person who did it...did they get caught?"

She shook her head. "I don't know...I mean...the police haven't been in touch with me since a few months after the accident to check in on me. He hurt me and then he hurt someone else and ran off, but in the end it didn't matter."

"How so?"

"Because he took advantage," she whispered. He took advantage of my good nature, my willingness to help, and hurt me. She closed her eyes, sighing. "He was desperate but that doesn't excuse what happened."

"Of course not." Gilly folded her arms over her chest. She smiled again. "I'm a nurse. Part time since Little Sam was born, but I see a lot coming into the emergency room. People who hurt themselves and hurt others. It's hard to give them treatment sometimes. Except we must. We can only hope they change their minds and make something of themselves."

_Very wise._ She nodded. It was good to know someone else thought that. It was encouraging. "I stopped my work because of it," she admitted. It hurt to say the words. To say them to someone else who had no idea about her. She realized she hadn't actually said it in exactly that fashion. _She stopped doing what she loved because of the attack._ She swallowed hard. _She loved her work._

_And they loved her._

Whatever emotions she was feeling hadn't projected onto Gilly, who continued. "Did you forgive the person who hurt you?"

_I think I did._ She nodded, slow, just a drop of her chin to her chest. Then again. Another nod. Quicker this time. Until she was whispering. "Yes. I think I did." It wasn't that person she was angry with for some reason. _I'm angry at myself._

Gilly walked around her and patted her arm, squeezing her elbow lightly. "You almost died. That's hard enough. I cannot imagine what your brother was thinking too." She walked over to the door and stopped again, glancing over her shoulder, bright. "And I don't know if you have any plans for Christmas, but Sam and I would love if you joined us tomorrow evening for supper. Little Sam loves opening a couple presents early."

A swoosh of cold, damp air flooded the small guesthouse before the door shut. It was still cold. Dany rubbed her upper arms, trying to warm herself up, but she remained chilled. She closed her eyes. She saw Viserys's angry face, the hurt in his pale lilac eyes. That what you think, he'd questioned her. And he'd thrown her out when she refused to listen to him. The shutters closed around him and he retreated into the mausoleum of Dragonstone. The worst place for him to hide.

Once more she wondered where Jon had gone off to and why he hadn't said anything. Gilly hadn't mentioned him either. She frowned. She didn't like that she wanted to know where he was. _He's just a guy, Daenerys._ She hated feeling like she was missing something without him. She rubbed her temples. A headache formed around her skull, threatening to overtake her. "Fuck," she murmured. She glanced at the time on the small digital clock near the door. She was late. "Aw fuck!"

She grabbed her jacket and shoved her feet into her boots, not bothering to change out of her rumpled, slept in clothes, sweeping her elf uniform, phone, and keys off the floor and hurrying out.

Another day of holiday mayhem awaited her.

~/~/~/~

"Hey Missy it's me, I'm sorry to leave a message, but I was just wondering..." Dany flicked tinsel around her fingers, twirling and tightening, watching her fingertips turn purple before flooding back with blood as she loosened the silver strands. She sighed. "Um, I want to talk to you about something, call me back." She hung up, shoving her phone into the drawer under the cash register.

A flash of white outside had her turning her head quickly, hurrying to the window to see if it was Ghost and Jon. She pushed back a wreath to give her a better view of the square, heart thudding in anticipation. Instead of the snow-white wolf and his black-clad master, she realized the white flash was the overlarge fur coat of a woman standing by one of the Christmas market stands. Her shoulders slumped, disappointed.

"Looking for someone?"

"No one," she lied, glancing sideways at Tyrion, who was dressed rather festively in a red shirt with his dark suit. He even had a sprig of holly on his lapel. She smirked. "Dressing up for someone?"

"Just trying to get into the spirit, Scrooge that I am."

"Well maybe don't destroy family legacies and enable your psycho sister." Said psycho sister was currently terrorizing the photography studio on the phone, claiming it was their fault they screwed up the Father Christmas pictures, not her son Tommen who had been responsible for taking the photos-- even though he'd been so nervous he kept taking photos of the ground instead of the horrified screaming children in Jaime's arms.

Tyrion rolled his eyes, before he fixed them unnervingly on her. "I am sorry for the store closing, but perhaps it is best. Fresh start and all." He nodded to her outfit, the same elf costume except she'd switched out the elf hat for a crown of rainbow sparkling garland. She'd even stuck a light box in it and had multicolored lights shining. "You seem well rested. Different."

The night before had been enlightening in more ways than one. She pushed away from him, not wishing to discuss it. "Just trying to get into the spirit," she mimicked, making a face and mocking him, throwing his words back. "Scrooge that I am."

He followed her from the window, around the counter, where she busied herself with price-tagging a new box of ornaments. "There's something different about you."

"I don't know of what you speak about."

"You aren't drinking," he noted.

She scowled, nodding to the flask kept beneath the register. "Not that I can say the same of you."

"Well there is something different about you." He paused, smirking. "I kind of like it." In deflection of the warmth she felt that someone had noticed she wasn't quite as dour as she had felt of late, she threw a candy-cane at him. He caught it, smiling, and hopped off the step behind the register, walking around in front, pointing to her with it. "Whatever it is, keep it up Daenerys."

There was nothing _different_ about her. She felt the same as before. Maybe not as _weighed down._ The previous evening had been practically cathartic. She finally showed someone else her scar. It was liberating in a way, to know she wasn't the only one who could see beyond the terrifying jagged mark that curved around her breast. She might never be able to wear a bikini again, but someone hadn't gone running in terror. Hadn't immediately treated her like a delicate flower, wilting in the summer sun.

Someone else had the same fears she did, someone else had the same terror and understanding, she thought. She hummed along with the carols on the speaker system, fussing about with one of the snowmen displays, ignoring the commands of Cersei and the argumentation of Tyrion, unable to stop the bounce in her step.

~/~/~/~

"Happy Christmas."

Dany passed off one of the presents she'd wrapped for someone, turning back to the rolls of wrapping and folds of tissue paper, gathering the scraps to toss to the bin. She did not mind wrapping things up for people. It was a free service they offered, something that bothered Cersei, who wanted to charge for the sheer fact that people weren’t buying things when they came into the shop with already purchased presents, just to use them to wrap them up. She actually liked the process; it was somewhat comforting, mechanical. Gave her an opportunity to tune out.

_Reminded her of wrapping presents for the kids last year._

She swallowed hard, pushing beyond the chill in her spine when she thought of the previous year. Yes, last year she was wrapping presents for the charity Christmas pageant. She was wrapping presents to deliver to the home. Missandei had come to pick them up. She told her she'd see her later, with the donations they'd received from the box set by the register. She'd counted it up-- over a thousand pounds!— everyone had been so generous.

_I held the envelope. I left...I ran through the slush. Not paying attention. Late. I was late. Did I lock up? Oh fuck I forgot to lock up! Nothing there to steal, but kids could make a mess...go back...oh sorry! Happy Christmas!_

"Dany?"

The memory, running down the wet sleeting road in her elf costume, a crown of holly and elf hat on her head. The envelope under her arm. She bumped into someone, but she hadn't remember that before. Her eyes closed, ignoring her name, a foggy sound in her mind, her eyes closed, focusing, focusing...outside of a convenience store. She crashed into someone..._so silly, not paying attention_...dark...he was a dark shadow...a shifting shadow...bright eyes...gray eyes...scar across his eye...

_Jon._

"Dany!"

Her eyes opened, a gasp crushing her chest, blinking through the confusing fog of her mind, muddled with sounds of EMTs shouting and sirens and blaring police lights. She suddenly saw Christmas lights, blinking right in front of her, startled and grabbing for them. Her tinsel crown had fallen over her face, the string of lights tangling in her hair. "Oh bugger it," she cursed, fingers flailing in the decoration.

Another set of hands joined in and she lifted her head, coming face to face with her brother. Viserys dropped his hands from where he'd been trying to help her untangle the cord of lights from the garland, snagging in her hair. He fisted them at his sides, glancing around the rather empty store. He sighed. "Can we talk?"

It took her a moment, to study her older brother. Older by eight years. It was like in their own way, each one of them had been only children. Rhaegar was in his 20s when Viserys was born. Viserys had been alone for almost a decade by the time she came along. Then she had just generally been alone. He didn’t seem any different, but she noted that the dark circles under his eyes did not seem as prominent. His silver hair was tamed into a loose ponytail. He wore a simple sweater with his Marmot jacket. Viserys refused to wear anything that remotely looked like trainers, yet he wore hiking boots.

She scowled at the shoes and then up at him. “Are you on your meds?”

“Yes.” He looked at the boots and sighed. “I’ve been…hiking Dragonstone. Fixing stuff.” _Viserys Targaryen is getting his hands dirty!?_ She grabbed for his hands, shoving his coatsleeves up. He glared at her, shaking loose. “I’m not doing drugs!”

“I wasn’t looking for track marks, I was verifying your story. Shit, your nails are broken. You have calluses!”

“I’ve been cleaning the upstairs.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, scowling up at Cersei, who was winking at him. He gave her the finger. Nodding towards the door, he left, waiting for her in the square, shifting. The notion that Viserys was actually _working_ was enough for her to snag her coat from the hook by the door and walk out, buttoning it up and joining him in the square.

The Christmas village was rather lively, people shouting and games being played. There was an outdoor carolers display, instruments and people singing along. It was too much. She led him across to the Christmas tree lot by the fish and chips place, Seaworth’s. She smiled at the older man who ran the chippy, who nodded to her in passing.

The lot didn’t seem like most sketchy lots with bundled up trees in twine and wire. It wasn’t dark, didn’t look like a place for someone to take you back and murder you. All the trees appeared to be growing from the ground, the needles sharp and branches full. They were all draped in white lights, with a series of outdoor lights and icicles strung criss-cross over the lot, filling it with brightness and shimmering off the snow.

Someone had scattered benches throughout. She sat on one, crossed her arms and legs, waited for her brother. He sat beside her. They were silent. Viserys tilted his head back and she sighed, glancing sideways. “I’m a mess,” he whispered.

It should have been a relief to hear him finally admit it, but she just laughed, practically hysterical. “And I’m not?” she retorted.

“I wasn’t there for you.” He sat up, arm draped over the back of the bench and drawing his knee up under him, frowning and reflective. Sometimes it was good when he was on his medications. It reminded her of the brother she wished she had had growing up. He blinked, lilac eyes shining. “As kids.”

She shook her head, nibbling her lower lip. “No,” she agreed. “You were a terrible brother.”

“And you were a terrible sister.”

“Yeah but Vis, you basically sold me to your dealer when I was sixteen. I married too young, thought it was what I could have and…and I lost my baby.” She sniffed, the memory of Rhaego so strong. She had recovered, found something to do with her life, moved on and made something of herself. “I tried Vis. I moved on and I helped people and found what I thought was my calling. I thought that meant helping you too and in the end…you fucked me over so many times. I know what I said was hurtful and I’m sorry, but what am I supposed to think? You’ve left me so many times for your own shit that you won’t deal with!”

He sat up straighter, eyes suddenly wild. “Dany you died!” he exclaimed. A hoarse laugh came from him and she saw his throat constrict and bob. She was stunned—he had never shown her this much emotion before. Nothing so real. “I’m not lying, you fucking died on me. You were…covered in blood.”

_He was there. He saw me. How do I not remember this?_

“What do you mean?”

“I mean they called me and I saw you and you were covered in blood and I saw the line go flat!” Viserys stood quickly, shouting down at her, voice thick. “And you died! They took you away and I was alone again! You think I wasn’t there? I was there the whole fucking time! I watched you almost die again on me and I couldn’t take it! You weren’t you!”

_Wasn’t me!?_ It was her turn to jump up, to shout back. “Vis I died, just like you said! How am I supposed to be the same? The same sister that let you get away with everything?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Well it sounded like it. I died, I hurt, and I’m trying.” Tears began to track down her face. She felt her eye makeup start to sting as it mingled with the salty drops. It was probably one of the first times she admitted that. She cried, shoulders shaking. “I’m trying and it hurts and I don’t know…I don’t know what I’m doing. I need a brother, I need someone, and you were never there.” She wiped at her eyes, the makeup smearing on her fingers. Gods, she probably looked like a racoon. “You were my big brother, the only one I had after Rhaegar and I couldn’t take care of you and me.”

He nodded, ashamed, tired, and confused. “I was there,” he whispered again. He stepped towards her and moved her coat aside, pressing his hand over her heart, whispering again. “I was there Dany, don’t ever say I wasn’t. My little sister…Rheagar and Mother and…and even Father…”

_And you almost lost me too._

Somehow she found herself hugging him, her face buried in his shoulder, sobbing. The last two Targaryens, she thought, alone in the world. With only each other to care for. It was all she wanted, she thought, a family. Something she had to create from scratch, from the people she helped. Someone tried to take that from her.

_I almost let them._

Now more than ever, she thought, she needed her brother. She pulled away, wiping her eyes and sniffing back the tears, her throat clogged and her lungs straining. She smiled sheepishly. “We’re a right fucking mess, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. His nose wrinkled. “I don’t like how the meds make me feel, but I really didn’t like being off them.”

“I don’t want to fight Vis. All we ever do is fight.”

“I know.” He picked up her hand, twisted the ring on her index finger. It used to belong to their mother. He blinked hard. She looked away, pretending she didn’t see. He collected himself and folded her hand back up, patting it lightly. “Maybe it’s good they’re selling Rhaegar’s property. Might be best to just…get the fuck out, you know?”

She understood. It hurt so much. One of the last pieces of her brother going away. They kept clinging to him. Kept clinging to the past. Sometimes the past was the worst thing. They weren’t good days. She shook her hair from her eyes, blinking the remaining tears away. “I need my brother Vis. You can’t go off your meds again.”

“And I need my sister.”

“I know,” she muttered, looking at her feet. She dug her boot toe into the snow. She’d taken off the elf shoe toppers. She looked like an escapee from a weird Christmas pageant. Their eyes met again and she smiled. “Don’t clean out my room at Dragonstone.”

“Gross, I don’t want to know what you did in high school.”

They shared a laugh, nervous, trying to find their new footing. She hugged him again; it felt like the only thing she could do. Her eyes closed. _He was there, Vis was there and saw me._ Realization smacked her like a cold snowball to the face. Her eyes sprang open. “Vis? Was there someone else who was attacked the same night as me?”

“Hmm? I don’t know.”

“Remember.” She pulled back, frowning and trying to read his expression. He furrowed his brow, but shook his head. Her eyes widened. “No one? Not…not a man? There was another person they said. Who was it? Who called 999?”

“Why?”

I want to know who it was. I want to know if it's someone I already know. I'm so confused. “Because I have to know,” she sobbed. It had become something of an obsession. If she was supposed to recover, if she was supposed to reveal her scars and move on, she had to know what really happened. It was so muddled. So foggy and dreamlike and she didn’t know what her mind had created to protect her or what was real. She wiped her eyes again. “Please Vis, I have to know. I can’t live not knowing if someone else was hurt with me. I can’t remember.”

They walked to the edge of the lot, her arm looped in his, staring at his face for anything. A spark, a flicker, just…_something._ He kept his gaze on the ground. Gods knew what he would have remembered. If anything, but it was something. He shook his head and her heart fell to her feet. “I think it was a man. I was in the waiting room…they pushed me out after you went to surgery. I think someone else came in. Big family, there was some family in the waiting room the next day, so bloody annoying. Loud and yelling and demanding things. I had to leave.”

_Of course you did._ “Nothing about what he might have looked like?”

“I don’t remember Dany, I wasn’t thinking of anyone else then.” He blinked, turning quickly, eyes widening. She rose on her toes, eager. “I think there was someone in the room next to you…doctors kept talking about how that crazy lady, that Mel doctor you see, she’d had to bring two people back to life that night. That’s all I remember.”

_Two people back to life._ So that meant whoever had been hurt with her, maybe they were still alive! Maybe her mystery savior man was still out there, if he was the same person who was also injured. “I keep thinking it’s this guy I’ve seen around,” she blurted.

That made her sound like a mad woman. Vis quirked his eyebrow, smirking. “Oh? Do tell.”

“Shut up, not like that. He’s…interesting.”

“Sounds boring.”

“He has a wolf.”

“Sounds freaky.”

They walked back to the store, where she hugged him one last time, before saying goodbye, watching him get into the car—he actually drove—driving away. She watched the taillights disappear down the street, glancing at the store. It would be fine without her for closing; Tyrion could handle it. She turned and walked back to the Christmas lot, surprised to find she was still crying. She fumbled in her pocket, but couldn’t find anything to help stem the tears that stupidly kept making their way down her face.

A young girl approached, offering her a tissue. “Here you go miss.”

“Oh!” She sniffed, taking the tissue and immediately using it to wipe at her eyes. She laughed as the girl smiled softly. “Gods, I look a mess I bet. Bloody eye makeup.”

The girl smiled wider. “It’s alright. Are you okay? Can I call someone for you?”

“Oh no, thank you.” She crumpled the used tissue in her hand, frowning at the fact that a young girl, maybe twelve or thirteen, was offering her assistance. At nighttime. Alone. “Bloody hell, where are your parents?”

“Oh, my dad runs the chippie, he’s helping me pick out our first Christmas tree.” The girl blushed. Dany noticed there was a large burn scar on the side of her face, poor thing. It did not detract at all from her innate sweetness. Her voice dropped, soft. “He’s my foster dad actually.”

The man who owned the chippie, Davos, she remembered, closed up the door and jogged over. “Shireen, don’t forget your scarf, there’s a good lass.” He handed the girl a long navy scarf, which she immediately wrapped around her neck, burrowing into it. He glanced at Dany. “Oh hello there. The elf!”

“Yeah,” she laughed, mock-displaying her costume. “The elf. My name is Dany though.”

“Ah, I’m Davos.”

“Yes, I like your chips. My cat likes the fish.”

Davos chuckled, his arm wrapping around the girl’s shoulders. He gestured to her. “And you’ve met Shireen here!”

“We just did, lovely to meet you and thank you again for the tissue! Very sweet.” It was good to see that some children could maintain their innocence, she thought, the girl beaming. She nodded to the lot, eyes widening. “And first Christmas tree! That’s lovely, I hope you pick a good one, yeah?”

“Yeah, I never had one before. My parents weren’t big on that sort of thing.”

“But now,” Davos said, cutting off the girl before she could fall into a sort of sadness, her deep eyes already shadowing with whatever dark memories the mention was conjuring. He patted her shoulder. “Now we celebrate Christmas. Come Shireen, Marya is waiting and I promised her we’d pick the biggest tree we could find!”

She grinned, watching them walk off, giving a wave. It was lovely to see that sort of kindness. The children she worked for had the same sort of heaviness on them that little Shireen carried. Good people came into their lives, hopefully, to help lift it and give them back the lightness they should have as children. Davos was always nice to her, it was also comforting to see that it carried over from just serving customers.

There was no sign of Jon, but somehow she didn’t mind. He was wherever he was. She removed her phone, bringing up her doctor’s name. A Google search was terrifying, for Dr. Mel had a lot of patients that were quite frightened of her, but whatever she had done last year had worked. It seemed she did for someone else too. She hovered, wanting to send her office a message, asking for an appointment, but it would be no use. Doctors couldn’t discuss their other patients. Even Dr. Mel adhered to that, she would imagine.

She shoved the phone back into her pocket and lifted her face to the sky, closing her eyes as snowflakes began to drop. They landed on her cheeks and she spun in a circle, arms outstretched, looking like a mad woman, but she didn’t care. It seemed she was on her way to something, she just wasn’t quite sure what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: December 23, Dany celebrates with Missy and takes a major step towards regaining control; December 24, on the anniversary of her attack and frustrated with a routinely disappearing Jon, Dany learns the truth, not just of her attack, but of the man who saved her.


	10. you can plan on me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany has flashes of memory, unsure what to make of them; on Christmas Eve, she remembers everything, but questions still linger about Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up kids.

_Christmas Eve will find me_

  
_Where the love light gleams_

  
_I'll be home for Christmas_

  
_If only in my dreams_

** _\- Bing Crosby, I'll Be Home For Christmas_ **

**x.**

**Two Days Until Christmas**  
**23 December**

"Cheers!"

"Drink!"

The plastic cups they'd collected knocked over their table, elbows hitting and bodies surging forward in a fit of giggles, arms attempting to lock as Dany threw back the shot of fire whiskey and Missandei tried to do the same. They'd already had several glasses of Glugwein and more than enough shots, but it was still fun. She gasped as the liquid burned her throat, taking a peek at the bottle Missy had bought for their table. She tilted it back, studying the gray wolf running on a field of white. _Stark Distillery._

Missy caught her looking and it and shrugged, licking the rim of her plastic shot glass to get the last drop of whiskey. "I thought we'd celebrate with something a tad more prestigious. It's supposed to be pretty good."

"It is good." She noted it was the 'holiday version.' The back label at the Stark wolf with a festive Christmas hat on its head. She thought of Ghost wearing a Christmas hat and burst into another fit of giggles. The image was comical, adorable, and no doubt the hat would be shreds once Ghost finished putting up with the humans for ten seconds to take their necessary photos of him.

"What's so funny?" her friend laughed.

"Everything."

"Well I'm so glad."

There was a genuine warmth in Missandei's chocolate brown eyes, warmth not brought on by the copious amounts of alcohol they'd consumed over the past few hours. They were enjoying themselves, she had off from the store today-- felt like release for good behavior honestly--so she'd dragged her friend to enjoy the fun of the Christmas fairs that had popped up around the neighborhood, even if it did bring her within a close distance of her workplace. She actually felt _good._ She wanted to celebrate it. Missandei was more than game.

She returned the warm smile. Her friend was happy for her. It felt nice for once, not to be on a disapproving look. Even if Missandei's disappointing looks weren't as bad as some. Not like Tyrion's or even Viserys. "Drink again!" she shouted, not wanting to get too emotional. It had been a hard few days. It had been an interesting few days. She wanted to _celebrate._ She was talking to Viserys again, she'd finally received some sort of tacit acknowledgment she wasn't a total fuckup from Tyrion, and for once in almost a whole year she had slept two straight nights through, without the assistance of medication or alcohol.

_Just a cup of tea and a warm dark-haired man for at least one of those nights._

The thought of Jon had her smile faltering. He'd been missing for two days now. She hadn't seen or heard from him since she'd fallen asleep in his arms. It hurt, if he had decided maybe she was too much of a mess. Except it hadn't felt that way. It almost seemed like he had been resigned to leave her. Sad even, but then again, he hadn't actually _left_ her. She finished her next shot, shivering as the cinnamon-flavored liquid made its way to her stomach. "Come, we need food! We need to soak this shit up. I'm dying for a doughnut or something. One of those apple cider things."

Except even in a cloudy haze of drunkenness, Missandei was her best friend. The bestest friend, who knew all her quirks and faults. "You're hiding something," she said. She teased, leaning over their high table, knocking at the empty cups again, a few rolling off onto the ground at their feet. "Whoops."

"Not hiding anything."

"Liar! Who is it? A man?" She wiggled her brows. "Getting yourself a Christmas cookie, huh?"

"Missy!"

"What? I can't be the only one of us with someone to find in my stocking come Christmas morning."

She laughed; eyes bright. "What would Grey think of you saying these words?"

"Oh fuck it, he'd be happy that you finally have someone. So?" She wiggled her brows again, almost to the top of the pink sparkling beanie cap she wore, the pom pom at the top wavering. "Who is it?" She continued her interrogation, counting off on her fingers. "Because there's been no one since Daario from what I can tell, you've been secretive, you've been hiding away, and Drogon hasn't even seen you, he's almost eaten out my couch cushions wanting his mother's affections."

Drogon just liked to be a terror, which was why she hadn't collected him yet to take him to the little house with Gilly and Sam. She raked her fingers through her hair, sending the silver curls snagging a bit. "It's...well there's this guy."

"I knew it!"

"Not like that!" she laughed. She bit her lower lip, struggling on how to characterize Jon Snow. She stared at the bottle of whiskey, focusing on the wolf. It seemed to move on the label as she cocked her head. "I mean, he's...he was also attacked. Survivor of one."

"Oh?" Missy leaned further into her; voice quiet. "Did you go to one of those support groups?"

She shook her head. "No, totally random chance meeting I suppose." _I crashed into him while running away from Viserys out of a top story window._ She felt her shoulder give somewhat, feeling how she'd pushed against him. The dark, stormy gaze that seemed to look straight into her.

_"Sorry about that, wasn't looking."_

_"Just need to go check the store where I work."_

_"Just be careful." _

_"Happy Christmas!"_

_"Hey! Let go of her!"_

A rushing sound like a freight train filled her ears. It was so clear. The man with the dark coat, bumping into her. He'd knelt and picked up the envelope, handing it to her. Warning her about carrying the money. She said something about a refugee center. She'd run off. He'd come back to her. He'd stared into her eyes. He told her to look at him. Face a shadow. Dark curls. Tamed back from his face. _Jon?_ Couldn't be him. She didn't know Jon before.

"Dany?"

"Sorry." She blinked hard. The alcohol must have been getting to her. She laughed. "Sorry, just thinking."

"Of your mystery man?"

She smirked. "Tall, dark, and broody." Although Jon wasn't that tall, come to think of it. She frowned a bit. "He's not that tall. Definitely dark and broody, for sure."

"Dreamy even?" Missy teased.

"That's a good way to describe him." A dream came and went when you woke up, sometimes you remembered and sometimes you didn't. it seemed as though Jon was just that. Coming and going at strange times. Disappearing on her when she wanted him but showing up when she least expected. The memory of a dream.

~/~/~/~

_"Stay with me."_

_Sirens, red and blue lights, a crash of doors. _

_Warmth all over her, on her hands and dripping onto the tile floor. _

_Red hair brushing over hers, a bright red choker pulsing with light. _

_“Stay with me. You're going to be okay. We're losing her! Too much blood loss. Punctured her lung, lacerated straight through.” _

_The light works in mysterious ways. You have a purpose in this world._

_“Where's the other one?” _

_“They together?” _

_“No, don't think so.” _

_“He got an ID on him?” _

_“Dog tags, but I can’t make out the words, covered in blood.” _

_“Her license says Dany. Dany you're going to be okay, you're in the hospital, you're going to be okay.” _

_What about him, save him, he helped me! _

_Head turning, focusing, another room, more people, dark curls on a white stretcher. Black coat. _

_“We're losing him!” _

_Flatline. Her flatline? Or his? _

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

_~/~/~/~_

"Daenerys!"

Somehow she'd slipped, standing still at the table and she was on the ground, sitting in a pile of slush under the table, holding her chest, heaving breaths, panicking as the memories blended together. She couldn't breathe, it felt like those first few days after surgery, when each breath terrified her, afraid her repaired lung was going to split into two, afraid she was living a life she shouldn't have been living, wondering if each one was her last. A crushing weight had her remaining on the ground, Missy barking off people from trying to help her, rubbing her shoulders and helping her back up carefully.

They embraced, her arms clutching at her friend, ignoring the curious stares and comments of onlookers, muttering she must have had too much to drink. It wasn't that. It was _real._

_I remembered._

"Missandei," she sobbed, pressing into her friend. She pulled back, wild-eyed. "I remember! I think...I think I remember stuff. I was in the hospital. There was another, a man, he helped me. I think he was the other one. The one who got hurt too." She still couldn't see his face. She kept thinking it was Jon of all people but that couldn't be right.

Missandei wrapped her arms around her, walking away from the market, huddling her to keep her warm, her voice soft. "Dany, I think your brain is confusing things. You just met this man; you're feeling better about everything...you're probably just blending things. It's a lot of trauma for one person to take."

She shook her head quickly, wishing she could bring it back to the forefront again. "I don't know. I don't know anymore." It was just there, out of reach. She was swimming underwater and she could see the sun shining above the surface, but she couldn't get to it no matter how hard to kicked and scrambled. She pressed her fingers to her temple, whispering. "I don't understand how any of this could be."

They came to a bench, over by the Christmas tree lot, sitting down carefully. Missy rubbed her shoulders and kept her wrapped up, a chill settling over her. _Maybe I'm mad. Maybe I'm really mad._ They were quiet. People walked by; the sounds of the crowds muffled buzzing in her head. Until Missandei finally broke the quiet between them. "Does this have to do with the man you looked up on my computer?"

_Oh. That._

She glanced up sheepishly, still trying to focus on the man in her memories. "That's the man that I met. Jon Snow...I was just curious. He'd mentioned some stuff and I wanted to make sure...well I wanted to make sure he wasn't insane."

"So you looked up his social services file?"

"Well it was an impulse."

Missandei smirked. "I should change my password." She paused. "You find anything useful?"

She shook her head, not wanting to out Jon's secrets to anyone. "Not really, he's...he's an interesting man. I just don't know if it's going to work out. We haven't talked for two days...he doesn't have a phone I don't think, not that he's given me his number or anything." She saw Missandei's concerned look and rolled her eyes. "We haven't done anything Missy. Just kissed a few times."

"Oh just kissing, huh?"

"It's sublime." It was like she was with her other half, as cheesy as that was. There was something about Jon that spoke to her, touched her right where that knife went into her heart. She reached for her chest. He had a matching scar too. _What are the odds, huh?_ She closed her eyes. "I wish I could find out what happened to that other victim, but it's been so long."

"It's been a year, Dany. A year tomorrow." There was a choking in her best friend's throat. "And you've been so hurt. I hate seeing you like how you've been but these past few days you've been so good. Things really are getting better. You're talking to Vis, you're smiling, you're not locked in that awful shop mourning your brother's legacy...coming to terms with things...it's good. Whoever this Jon Snow is, if he's helped you get there, then I want to thank him. If he's hurting you though, if his disappearing and all is hurting, then I want to smack him."

_That's what best friends are for._ She smiled and patted Missy's hand. "Don't worry." Although she knew what Missy meant. She was finally feeling good about herself. Thinking about Jon and why he left was only going to hurt her. It was bad. She didn't want to feel bad, didn't want to feel like a man was why she'd done what she'd done. She was doing this for herself. This was all her.

Missy hesitated and reached into her bag, removing a flyer and pressing it to her fingers. "Here. I don't know if you are ready, but the annual pageant."

_The one I missed last year._

"It's tonight actually, not tomorrow. Too many of the kids have other things...but consider going." Missy kissed the top of her head and hugged her tight. "I know it might be too much, but please consider it."

Dany stared at the hand-drawn flyer, running her fingers over the bubble letters, the little cartoon Christmas characters. She closed her eyes. The pageant was her favorite thing. The kids opening their presents afterwards. The announcement of the annual Christmas fundraising drive totals. The deposit of the money and the big fat fake check. Last year they hadn't been able to do that. This year would be different. She nodded; her voice soft. "I'll go."

It surprised her, before it surprised Missy. The other woman exclaimed in happy laughs, reaching for her, squeezing tighter than before. It forced a smile she didn't even know she was holding back. "Oh, I'm so thrilled! Oh Dany, this is amazing! They'll be so happy to see you!" She pulled back, glancing at her watch and cursed. "I'm late, damnit! Need to sober up before I go wrangle all these children." Her eyes were positively shining with tears, little sparkles on her happy face. She hugged her again, kissing her cheek. "I love you Dany, I'll see you there? You going to be okay? I can send Grey to be with you."

Sitting for a bit had made her steadier, so she nodded and waved her off. "Go!" she laughed. The sun was beginning to fall behind the horizon. It had the smell of snow in the air. Missy would no doubt race home, crash out for a bit to sober up, and then be as good as new for the pageant. She didn't need to do much, just sit there until she felt ready and she'd go. She liked the Christmas trees around her. Like watching the people on the square. It was fine.

After some time, she finally got up, walking away from the square and into the little park a couple blocks away, the park where she'd sat on the swings and Jon Snow had thrown snowballs at her. There were more decorations around, garland and lights and icicle decorations. It was as lit as a fairytale, she thought, leaning back on the swings and beginning to kick her feet.

The skirt she wore fluttered around her knees, her legs in thick sparkling tights a bit chilled. She closed her eyes and titled her head, catching a snowflake on her tongue. When she opened her eyes and sat up, she felt a presence watching her and glanced to the wrought iron gate entrance. A set of red eyes shined back, rubies in the darkness. "Hi Ghost," she whispered, smiling. It was good to see him. She stretched her hand out and he walked his soft muzzle straight into it, eyes closing contently, her fingers scratching through his ears. She nuzzled against him, eyes fluttering shut as his warmth spread through her.

He pushed against her, turning slightly, glancing over his shoulder. She lifted her head slightly and saw Jon walking towards her slowly, hands in his pockets of his black pea coat. His hair was down this time, untamed raven curls around his face, shadowed in the soft light of the park. "I haven't seen you for a couple days," she murmured, speaking to Ghost, not wanting to acknowledge the man whose presence made her heart leap straight into her stomach, who had her relieved and scared at the same time.

"I had to go away," he whispered, still walking towards her. There was something silent, sad about him. He no longer seemed like the Jon she had met. A finality of sorts on him. He took a deep breath and glanced at Ghost. "Ghost wasn't around, my family took him for a bit, but he's back now. I'm back now."

That didn't make sense, she thought, finally meeting his gaze. The black of his pupils drowned his irises, focused intently on her. She pushed off the ground, the swing's frozen chains clanging behind her as she moved towards him. "I don't like feeling this way," she exclaimed. She hadn't meant to shout, but the pressure was building again. Tears fell down her face, mingling with the dried tracks from her collapse earlier. Her nails dug into her palms. "I was doing fine without you and you show up and I start to feel better and then you leave, you just disappear on me and I start to feel bad about myself and I don't want to feel bad about me! I don't want it to be that I'm finally feeling good, my relationship with my brother is good and my friends are smiling at me and I can walk outside and see a happy family and not want to fucking kill myself!" She sobbed out. "And you show up again now!"

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I don't want you to be sorry I want you to be here! Be here if you're supposed to be here, but if you don't want to be, then just go!"

The way he stared at her scared her. He was memorizing everything about her face. He was resigned to something; she knew that look. He reached his hand up, rough fingers dragging over her wet cheek. "Don't," she sobbed, but she knew she was going to end up in his arms. He dropped his head to hers. "Jon no, I don't know you!"

He smiled, the movement of his lips over her causing her to part hers, just enough for him to press lightly, fingers delving carefully through her hair, the kiss achingly slow. She couldn't breathe, for other reasons this time, and opened her eyes slowly, staring into those gray orbs, the ones that she swore she'd seen somewhere else. He squeezed her hands, bringing them up to his lips, kissing her knuckles through the thick wool of her gloves. "You know who I am," he said.

_I don't know who you are. I don't know where you are._

She shook her head. "I don't."

"Yes you do, you've always known."

"I don't understand."

His hand touched her exposed collarbone, found its way beneath the collar of her shirt. She closed her eyes tight, his palm spreading warmth, happiness, and pain all the same time through her system. Her scar burned bright, a brand on her skin. A talisman, a soul mark, whatever you could call it, and she gripped her fingers into the collar of his coat, wanting to touch his, the same one that he had on his chest. "You need to find me before it's too late," he breathed, her curls waving from her face with the force of his sighed words.

"I don't know what that means. You're right here!"

"I'm not really here. Just like you weren't really here either." He let go of her and she tried to grasp of his hand again, that feeling of almost being at the surface upon her but falling back beneath to the depths again. He glanced over his shoulder, smiling, long and slow. "I'm running out of time. Don’t leave me. Hurry."

"I'm going mad." It was the only explanation for all of this.

He walked backwards, slowly, almost gliding on the snow, Ghost padding silently beside him. He shook his head, gray eyes darting to Ghost one more time before the wolf departed through the gates. "No, you're not mad at all Daenerys. It's right there. You'll get it."

The last image she had of him was blurring away, walking back into the shadows with the wolf giving her one more look before darting off, disappearing into a blur of tears, her eyes slamming shut, sobs consuming her.

~/~/~/~

**One Day Until Christmas**  
**December 24**

"Happy Christmas Eve!"

The smile she provided was not enough for Little Sam, who rushed over to wrap his pudgy arms around her knees, beaming up, his Christmas hat knocked askew atop his sandy brown hair. Dany knelt, adjusting his hat. "You look quite merry," she said.

"Very sweet indeed," Missandei chirped, offering the little boy a wrapped gift, which he promptly grabbed and took off towards the tree. She stood, smiling at Gilly, who walked over to shake her hand. "It is lovely of you to open your home to us! Oh, damn Drogon."

She had been clutching her cat, unable to really let him go after the previous evening. It had been too much. The strange interaction she'd had with Jon, the lovely Christmas pageant she'd attended. She had cried herself to sleep, exhausted from the overwhelming emotions, wishing she could remember things that seemed lost forever, wondering why the man who had wormed his way into her life was suddenly drawing away, and hoping she could get out of this the same way she had everything else in her life. She was finally doing well, but the Jon situation had been almost too much.

If he didn't want to be with her, she wouldn't play his games. She would move on and no stupid man with his stupid wolf would change her opinion. It was clear she couldn't remember anything else. Her mind was confused, it was merging things that didn't make sense. The accident, Jon, Christmas, it was all blending into one mess.

Drogon hopped out of her arms, racing beneath the couch, his fluffy black tail flicking ominously. She sighed. "Drogon, chill out."

"Kitty!"

Gilly gave her a hug, tugging her into the living room. "Come, let's try to be merry. Lovely to meet you Missy!"

"My boyfriend will be by shortly; he's finishing up some work."

They hadn't wanted her to be alone that night. Neither did Vis, but he wasn't ready to leave Dragonstone again, so she said she'd see him tomorrow. Missandei wanted her to be surrounded by people, celebrating and enjoying herself. To remember she was _alive._ After all that happened to her last Christmas and all the pain, agony, and recovery, she had come out on top, the dragon in the flames. She understood why they wanted her to be here, but she was still a mess, she wasn't fully healed. She was just on the way.

_Which I guess is something._

"Where is Sam?" she asked, noting the missing presence of Gilly's husband. She frowned. "I didn't realize professors had to work Christmas Eve."

"Oh, it's just..." Gilly sighed, frowning. She closed her eyes briefly, obviously fighting some pain. "That friend I mentioned? His family called Sam earlier today. They don't think he will last the night. Sam went to be with them."

Missy's face fell. "Oh I'm so sorry, that's dreadful."

"Yes," Dany whispered. She reached to touch her temple. There had been a nagging headache for the entire day. Missy had tried to distract her. They'd gone to the store, which had been open only for a few hours before Tyrion let her leave, pleased that she had been doing so well and also not wanting her to be near the place on the anniversary of the attack. He didn't say so, but Dany knew, Tyrion wasn't as subtle as he liked to think he was. It was fine, she didn't want to be there for too long anyway.

They'd walked through the city, they'd seen the lights in Covent Garden, they'd ventured into some open pubs and shops in Notting Hill, before adjourning back to Kings Landing to watch movies, curled up on the tiny couch in Missy's apartment, Drogon keeping her company. Until they'd come here, to Gilly's house, for a little Christmas Eve dinner, party, and watching the little boy open presents. Anything to distract her, she supposed.

Except she couldn't be distracted. Not with her head hurting. Her scar ached. Her heart throbbed too. "Sam's friend got into an accident last year?" she asked, blurting it out. She wasn't sure why she wanted to know more. Morbid curiosity. Sense of camaraderie with this mysterious individual. She blinked, Gilly glancing surprised. "Sorry. Just...curious."

"Dany we probably don't need to," Missy began.

But Gilly shook her head. "No, it's alright." She took a deep breath. "Sam's friend, he was helping someone I guess and..." Her phone rang, distracting her. She held her finger, going to check. "Oh, sorry, it's Sam. I have to take this."

"I need to go on a walk," she exclaimed. She needed out of that house. Out of a space with Christmas carols playing on the speakers, a little boy chattering after her cat, and the tale of another person hurt by the world about to unfold. The top of that cliff, the top of the lake, the end of that string, she could sense it. She needed to climb, to swim, to pull, to reveal exactly what she was missing in her memories.

She didn't wait for Missy, who tried to start after her, but distracted by Little Sam who began to ask her questions. It gave Dany the perfect amount of time to rush out of there. She hadn't even taken off her coat when she'd entered. She knew she wouldn't be long. She slammed the iron gate behind her, running down the sidewalk, her heart pounding in her ears and the cold air exploding in her one and a half of a lung. She kept seeing things, she kept forcing them back, bringing them closer and closer to her.

As she ran, as she fought the wheezing in her chest, the tears clenched back, she ran over everything in her head. She remembered leaving the store. That was it. It picked up again when she opened her eyes in a hospital bed, tubes down her throat, wires everywhere, and a violent pain cracking through her chest that made her sick. The in-between, she had to focus on that.

Dr. Mel said that she had a purpose. Dr. Mel said that she brought her back, but there was another too. _Who?_ The man. there was a man, hurt with her, and no one could remember him. He must have been nearby. She bumped into someone. She ran back to the store. She heard someone ask her for help. She turned and then it was gone. Then it was burning pain. Warm and cold at the same time. She was falling to the ground. Lips trembling and wanting help, unable to call for it.

She found herself in front of the old building where Jon brought her to meet Bran. There were a large group of people out front, it seemed as though some sort of reception had finished. They were milling about, waiting. Out of the corner of her eye she saw white movement.

_Ghost._

Ghost stood at the edge of the little plaza before the building, watching everyone, silent as his name, unblinking. He did not seem real. _Is it my imagination?_ She heard her footsteps echoing in her head, blood pounding in her ears in tandem with her heart. She caught sight of Bran in his chair, speaking with Meera. Ghost did not go to him and remained on the outskirts, ever watchful.

"Bran."

She stepped to him; his eyes flickered in recognition. "Oh, Daenerys? You knew Jon."

"Yes." _Knew_? She brushed by it, looking around and not seeing him. Surely if Bran were here, and Ghost, he'd be around. "Where is your brother?"

"Oh, over there." He gestured to a group that were talking, a young boy, two taller ones, and two girls. The one guy was taller and facing her; it wasn't Jon. The other was shorter, a bit stockier with his thick coat and a hat over his head. She smiled at Bran and turned approaching him.

She lightly touched his shoulder, breaking the conversation, one of the girls looking at her funny, long red hair hanging around her pale face. "Sorry, Jon, can I talk to you..." She frowned as the man turned. He looked familiar, but was certainly not Jon. "Oh...I'm sorry. I was looking for Jon."

"I'm Robb," the guy said. he pointed to her, bushy brows furrowing, a heavy Northern burr on his tongue. "You are the elf. From the Christmas shop." The concerned furrow turned angry, his blue eyes flashing dangerously. "And that's not funny, asking about my brother like that." He turned away, stomping towards a woman who was chatting with a couple others, including a red head with a sour expression on her face.

_What? I don't understand._ She shook her head, confused, gesturing towards where Ghost was. "But I don't...Jon…you're his siblings, right?"

"_Were_ his siblings," the cool redhead snapped. She scowled. "You know this isn't a funny joke, we're all in pain here. Gods." It was her turn now to storm off towards where her brother marched. It left the other two there, giving her a pitying, sympathetic look before they also left. Except the other girl, with similar gray eyes and sharp features like Jon, looked over her shoulder rather sadly, before she too turned away.

The pain cracked through her more than she thought it had a year ago. She didn't understand, where was Jon? Why were they doing this? She stumbled away, unable to think, her head splitting and her heart aflame. It didn't make any sense. Jon took her there, Jon showed her Bran, Bran knew that Jon was..._Oh gods._

_Bran didn't see Jon with her. She walked in before him. Jon didn't go inside._

She blinked, crashing against a tree, stumbling backwards against a park fence. This was worse than being drunk. It felt like she was dying again. The same confused pain, the same drowning feeling. She clawed, nails bleeding and dirty, arms straining, eyes burning, the surface was there, she could feel it, she could see it, she... With a strangled sob, she fell against a tree, sinking to the snow, gasping against the tidal wave slamming into her, nonstop, each realization preventing her from getting up.

_”I didn't think that dog had an owner.”_

_”Saw you come in alone last night.”_

_”Sam had a friend, last year...”_

_”You knew Jon?”_

"Excuse me?"

Dany's eyes sprang open, terrified, looking up at the young girl who had been in the square with Bran. She did not move to get up, too afraid it might be fake. It might be her mind, the Targaryen madness finally come to claim her. They were all worried about Viserys, when they should have been worried for her. "Yes?" she whispered, wary, eyes shadowed under her quirked brows, afraid this woman might start screaming at her. Or disappear. Or something.

Instead, she offered her hand, helping her off from the ground, very small but very strong, her gray eyes determined. Her dark hair was tugged half-back from her face and she wore a simple parka with a wolf logo on the front pocket, a gray scarf around her neck. She kept hold of her, not letting go. "You knew my brother?" she asked. She blinked, rolling her eyes. "My cousin I guess."

"I don't know anymore," she laughed. She thought she did. Thought she knew him, but it seemed like she didn't know anything. It was all a mistake. Her survival should have been a mistake. She was living this fucked up life, confused and afraid. She wiped her eyes. "Why?"

The young woman smiled, sad. Her gray eyes shined. _They look like Jon's eyes._ "Well I'm sorry for my brother, he's..." She took a deep breath. Determined. Strong. "I'm sorry it seems like you may not know. Jon was severely injured last Christmas. He's been in a coma since then and...and we're not sure he's going to last the night."

_What?_

Any strength she had in her wafted away, leaving her boneless against the tree, supported only by this woman's hand. The woman mistook her horror for surprise. S he nodded. "We thought it would be okay, he came off the ventilator a few days ago, like maybe a week...but it's not looking good."

"How?" she croaked. _She knew how. She knew it all._ it was all in her mind again. Only this time it wasn't confusing. It was real. She blinked. "How did it happen?"

"A robbery, last Christmas."

_Yes. He came running. He put his scarf on my wound. He told people to get help. He ran away._

"It was a shitty year, my dad died."

_He was trying to light a cigarette, dark head and body, irritated. She wasn't looking where she was going and bumped into him. Apologies, sorry, sorry, thank you, happy Christmas!_

"This woman was closing up a Christmas shop I guess, she had some money with her."

_I dropped the money in the puddle, he picked it up for me. He came running to help me when I screamed. He ran after the guy who stabbed me. He tried to get it back._

"And he ran after the guy and went to stop him, but the guy stabbed him a bunch of times."

_Seven stab wounds. I was helping someone and got hurt. We have matching scars._

"He bled out really bad, too much blood and he died. Not just like for a moment, he really died. The doctor worked on him forever and when he came back, he was in a coma. They said he might be brain damaged forever if he woke up, but he hasn't woke up."

_I'm running out of time._

Dany let go of her, pushed back from the tree. She couldn't hear the woman calling for her, because she couldn't hear anything. Only Jon's voice in her mind. Reassuring, teasing, arguing, and pleading with her. She remembered it all. She remembered everything.

~/~/~/~

_They were shouting things around her. She was outside of her body looking in and could only see blood. It ruined her elf costume, it stained anyone's hands like paint. It even looked like paint. Except it was the thing that gave her life and it wasn't inside of her body. Neither was she. _

_More shouting. The red-headed doctor had told her she would be okay. The light wouldn't leave her, not yet. She'd bring it back. Except the red-headed doctor was with someone else. She turned her head slowly, as they shouted for more blood, trying to stabilize her enough for surgery. She could see through a large window, beyond the blur of nurses, into another room, where a dark-haired man lay on a similar table. _

_It was the man who saved her, he was bleeding too. Something had happened to him, she supposed, when he''d gone off to try to stop the person who hurt her. She wanted to thank him. She wanted to talk to him. Her fingers flickered. Someone shouted they had her pulse back. She focused on him. She tried to blink, but she couldn't, her eyes remained opened, fixing only on the man. _

_Hey, you, she tried to say. You saved me. Don't leave me. She saw them bring out those electric paddle things and stick them on his chest. Then she saw the red-haired woman lean over him, muttering something, hands moving, but what was she doing? The bed moved beneath her. They were taking her away, but she couldn't leave yet. _

_His eyes opened. Stared across the divide at her. She thought he smiled. Except maybe it was her imagination. She tried to thank him; she couldn't move her lips. He opened his mouth; she couldn't hear him. And his eyes closed again. And they took her away._

_~/~/~/~_

The shock took her away. Took her walking through the city. The entire time she was speaking to Jon, she was speaking to nothing. She wasn't sure what that said about her mentality either. The world must have thought her mad. She was kissing an apparition. A ghost, an angel, a devil? He wasn't dead it, but he was alive beneath her. His skin was warm and his breath real. The steady thud of his heart beneath her ear. She focused on that, eyes closing. It was as real to her as anything. As her own heart under her scars.

A soft touch beneath her fingers alerted her to the wolf's presence. "Are you real? Or are you a figment of my imagination too?" she murmured, kneeling to look Ghost in the eye. He stared straight through her, the red eyes speaking to her. She touched her forehead to his, between his red eyes, whispering. "How is this possible? What is wrong with me?" _ who are you? Why am I here?_

_ **Because I’m Jon and you’re Dany and maybe just maybe you’re here because you want to be here. ** _

And as she opened her violet eyes and stared into Ghost's red ones, she saw gray reflecting back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Dany and Jon finally speak about the truth of what is happening between them.


	11. this year to save me from tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas magic is real, bringing together two lost souls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! This will not satisfy many I am sure. It is a Christmas fic after all :D

_Last Christmas, I gave you my heart_

  
_But the very next day you gave it away_

  
_This year, to save me from tears_

  
_I'll give it to someone special_

_ **-Wham! , Last Christmas** _

Dany took a deep breath, continued to stare into Ghost's eyes. The reflection of Jon behind her blinked away as Ghost turned to peer over her shoulder. She closed her eyes, her knees quaking beneath her. She stood from her crouched position, not willing to turn, not wanting to face her madness head on. The snow crunched, the wolf moving away, to join the man standing behind her.

"You've always known."

Tears fell down her face and she turned, staring at him. He was different. Perhaps it was because she knew he wasn't real. Somewhere the Jon Snow who had saved her life was lying in a hospital bed, preparing to die, to leave her. All she would be left with was the memory her mind had created. By some mythical or otherworldly connection, she'd manifested this man in front of her, she'd fallen in _love_ with him. She shook her head; she could not believe it. "I didn't know. I couldn't know."

He walked to her, in what she now recognized as the same outfit he'd been in when he'd saved her life. All black, dark hair free about his head, and she noticed that he didn't make any steps in the snow. _Did he ever?_ She couldn't remember. The wolf remained close. There was a connection there. Ghost was real, she felt it in her heart, in her bones. Jon stopped in front of her, reaching his hand to take hers, threading their fingers together. "You have Dany."

She shook her head again, sobbing. "You're dying. You aren't real."

"I am real," he stressed. He touched her fingers to his heart. It beat beneath her chest. "I'm real, just like you, but I don't have time left. "

"And how can I help you? You're not real, Jon. I imagined you. My brain, all fucked up from what happened and from this year and the holidays and stress and...it imagined you." She looked at Ghost again. Her brow furrowed. "But Ghost is real."

"Ghost is real," he confirmed. He smiled again. "When I was little I would have dreams I was Ghost. I would be running in the forest with him. It was s real as anything. They say my family descends from wolves. From magic." His eyes sparkled, the lights shining them bright. He touched her wrist, to the inked dragons there. "As you feel connected to dragons, I'm connected to my wolf."

It wasn't real, none of it could be real. "I don't understand," she said again.

"I don't understand either, but I can feel you and see you and love you." He lifted his hands to frame her face, touching his forehead against hers, breathing against her lips. His hands were cold now, no longer imbuing her with the warmth they had before. His lips felt raw, his breathing rattled, more difficult in his chest. She wasn't sure if it was because she knew the truth. If her mind was messing it up as well. His thumb flicked away a tear making a slow journey from the corner of her eye, his nose touching hers gently. "That night changed my life, Dany. You changed my life."

_How?_

"I'm a mess," she sobbed.

He laughed. "And so am I."

That night she had been hurrying away, absorbed in her world, and by random chance there he was. "If I hadn't crashed into you, you might not have known to come after me," she said. He may not have realized someone was in danger. Might not have put it together in his head to race after her.

"My sister always said I had a penchant for getting into trouble," he said. He shrugged, wincing and his eyes closing, the breathing more labored. "I guess that means you too."

"And you saved my life," she sobbed. He'd been there immediately after. He'd tried to stop the bleeding, he got people to help. He had tried to go after the guy. He was dying because of it. She shook her head fast, sobbing harder. "You're dying because of me."

"No Dany, I'm not. I'm not dying because you're going to find me. Like it was always supposed to be." He folded his hand over her scar, gasping his words. "We were always going to find each other, one way or another."

_One way or another._

The memory of that surgery room, seeing him looking at her, the tiny smile. He'd saved her. He'd given her time. She had to give it back. She crushed against him, unsure what else she was supposed to do. _How am I supposed to save someone who is dying somewhere else?_ "I just can't understand any of this."

"I don't understand it myself," he confessed. He tilted her face to him again, lips over hers. Their eyes fluttered shut at the same time. A train roared in her ear, warmth filling her to her toes. "All I know is I was in darkness for months, Dany. I was in black and there was nothing, I thought I had already died. All I could hear was this voice." He paused. Another brief smile. "And then I was seeing you. With your cat and your bag and storming down the street and I had to get to you."

That was the day she'd gotten evicted. The day that led her to him. _Again._ "You see through Ghost and I see you." It was mysterious and confusing and there were no real answers. She laughed. "So you kind of are a ghost after all."

"He wasn't with me most of the year," he whispered. He closed his eyes again. "They took me to Scotland. I was there for a bit, but when I took a turn, they brought be back here. Ghost came with them and when they removed the ventilator that's when it started. When I started seeing you. When the dreams came back. I"m running out of time and I don't know how much I have left, but if this is all I have. I love you, Dany."

Her heart swelled, bursting forth. "I love you too Jon," she gasped. She knew it somewhere deep inside of her, maybe she had always known. There had been so much in her life, so many people had come and gone, and yet no one had made her feel the way she felt when she was with this man. He didn't take her bullshit, he supported her, and she had told him things she hadn't told anyone else. Not once did he give her any indication he might hurt her, but here he was, hurting her so badly she thought she might finally die.

_Of course the man I finally fall in love with, the one who I want to be with, he's dying too._

"Why did you do this to me?" she sobbed, her arms around his neck, clutching him. She never wanted to let him go. Even as Ghost stared at her, even as he seemed to be disappearing in her arms. "Why was it me?"

He clutched her, clinging. She was his lifeline. "We're connected Dany. Last Christmas, what happened between us, we're connected."

_Forever._ She scrambled to hold him tighter. The attack the year before no longer felt so visceral. The pain in her chest was fading. The hold of him was gripping her tighter and tighter and she would not let go. She pushed her head to his shoulder again, inhaling him. He still held that smell. Pine, leather, and faint tobacco. She didn't know what to do; she didn't understand what he meant about finding him. He was running out of time, but what could she do? "You helped me," she said.

He helped her, he listened to her, and he threw it back in her face when she struggled with how she felt or tried to blame the rest of the world. He saved her life once and he'd helped save it again. He laughed, soft. "You helped you, I didn't do anything Dany. It was all you."

"I was a mess."

"And so was I." He pulled back again. This time she could see the sunken dark circles, the waxy pallor of his skin. His beard was a little more unkempt. His hair wilder, tangled at the ends. He was struggling; he was leaving her. It was now his turn to beg. He gripped her harder, fingers branding around her wrists and she clutched him, supported him. "I need you."

The answer to his please was simple. She had never been more sure of anything in her life. Her voice cracked, vision blurring even further. "You have me." The move and sound she made was quick, emerging from a place deep in her chest, launching against him, mouth crushing to his, desperate for one more taste of him, clinging to him, silently begging the gods, the world, whatever force of nature had allowed him into her life and to be here, to keep him there. To not let him go again, not when he'd fought so hard to live before. They could do it together. They could move on together.

_We can heal together._

The light inside of her sparked, a flame rising through her and pouring into him, fire burning hot on her skin and doing its best to warm him. Dr. Mel said that the light had been there for her. It had been there for someone else. He'd said that she should be there because she wanted to be there. So he had to want to be there too. He couldn't leave. She wouldn't let him.

As they kissed, she could hear a clock somewhere, clanging. It was almost Christmas. Only another hour or so, she thought, in the back of her mind, her lips still crushed to his, still refusing to let him pull from her, trying to force him in place, to keep him with her. Except it couldn't. He tore from her first, the light in his eyes fading, the gray dim and shadowed. "I don't have a lot of time left," he whispered.

"No please, be with me, stay with me, don't go!"

"You have to find me."

"You're here!" She grabbed for him, when he tried to step backwards. She was manic, a woman possessed. A dragon screeching for its mate, not wanting to lose the connection between them. It was fraying on the edges. The light was fading so fast she could feel it going out, that fire that had burned so hot between them already turning to embers. "You're here with me, you can stay. You can stay here!"

He shook his head, weak, fading pulse. "You found yourself Dany. Now find me." He touched Ghost's head, the wolf's eyes burning rubies. "I'll be waiting...but not for long. I'm trying, but I don't know how much more I can hold on."

All she knew was that she couldn't blink. She couldn't close her eyes because if she did he would be gone. She reached for him, but it was too late, the tears gushing through her forced her eyes shut. _No Dany, don't open them, don't open them he'll be gone._ Except she had to. She had to see for sure. One eye opened, slow, only peering through her lashes, and then the next.

Ghost remained.

The wolf turned, still silent, and began to walk down the street, padding quickly, before he took off into a full-on gallop. _Follow him Dany. Follow him!_ "Wait!" she screamed, taking off, feet slipping a bit in the ice. She took off, a blur of red coat and silver hair, wild-eyed, downright possessed. Did he feel this when he'd run down the street to find her there in the street, dying and bleeding? Did he already have that connection in his mind?

She lost sight of Ghost, but she knew where to go. She didn't know how she knew. Didn't know if the pull was there when she'd visited a few days ago. If she was mad, she'd already be at the hospital, she laughed. Viserys could visit her. They could be two fucked up mad Targaryens clanging around Dragonstone and burning everything like their ancestors before them. Seven hells, she'd already be at the hospital. She'd just check herself in. It was more than Vis ever had done.

None of the buses or Underground lines were running and she couldn't find a cab anywhere, so she ran for it. The cold air filled her completely; it felt like she was flying. Maybe she was on a dragon in another life, she thought, laughing as she spun around a corner, fumbling with her phone, seeing only 100 messages or so from Missy wanting to know where she was or if she was okay. She punched her friend's number, not giving her a chance to say anything as she shouted into the phone, winded and laughing, still running for the hospital. "I'm going to the hospital!"

"What!? Oh gods! Oh Dany, is everything okay?"

"It's fine! It's perfect! I'm going now, meet me!" She didn't even tell her which one, she probably should have let Missandei know, but there was only one she'd been frequenting the last year.

Somewhere she thought she saw Ghost, up ahead, but it was a trick of her mind maybe. It could all be a trick of her mind but she ran anyway, her ankles aching as they pressed against the thick material of her boots. Her skirt swished, her hair flew out of its braids, and she was putting her one and a half lung through all the paces. _If I die and he dies then we'll be dead together._

The hospital crept into her sights, ominous and dark. She burst through the doors, wild-eyed, gasping, probably about to pass out, but she couldn't think of that. _I have to find him._ She ignored a nurse asking if she was alright, if she needed help, and she ran for the administrative desk, falling forward over it from momentum. "Jon Snow!" she wheezed, gulping air. Her violet eyes had darkened to indigo, needing an answer. It had to be here, it just had to be here. "What room?"

The administrative assistant gaped at her; she must look a complete fright. "Ma'am are you...do you need a doctor?"

"No, I..." She remembered the floor she was on. The ICU. She pushed away, running down the hall to the elevator, knocking people aside in her thirst to get there. She punched the floor-- seven-- jumping in place, waving her hands frantically. "Come on, come on, please!" There was a digital clock in the elevator, blinking the time down. She didn't have much. 23:50.

It was almost Christmas.

The elevator dinged; she fell from the metal cage in complete panic, her knee almost giving out to knock against the tile floor, but she caught herself, pushing back up, sobbing in pain and fear she was too late, running down the corridor to the ICU. The residual fear of the place from her time spent there last year had gone, replaced with the terror she had lost him. That he wasn’t there, he was gone, and she was too late.

She cried out when she reached the admin desk for the unit, ignoring the looks from the families in the waiting area, startling them from their grief and waiting. “Jon Snow!” She gripped the edges of the desk, knuckles white, eyes wide. “Please! Tell me he’s here, I need to see him!”

The nurse at the desk gave her an empathetic but still disapproving look. “Ma’am I am sorry but visiting hours are over and you need to keep your voice down, there are families here waiting on loved ones.”

“No, I am one too, please, I have to see Jon Snow.”

“She’s with me.” The cool, accented voice cued her head up from the admin nurse, to see Dr. Mel standing by the double doors leading into the maze of corridors she remembered. She had on her usual red garb, her hands folded in front of her. In her mysterious way, the enigmatic smile on her lips, she punched in a code, the doors opening with a hiss, seal breaking to bring her so close to him. She gestured, red fingernail pointing. “He’s down there. Bed 998.”

It was happening. She swallowed the fear and walked by Mel, who had that knowing look. _Is she part of all this too? How did she know?_ “Thank you,” she murmured, no longer able to run any more, being cognizant of where she was. She remembered it. She remembered the smell, antiseptic and citrus. The sound of the machines that kept her alive and also reminded her of what had happened to her. It was cold; they kept it cold to limit the spread of viruses and bacteria, but she felt colder than she’d ever been.

_Where was Ghost?_

Her heavy boots pounded the floor, loud in her mind. Her fingers cramped beside her, staring ahead, recognizing the tall red-headed woman from the square, the one who had chastised her, thinking she was joking about Jon. Tears were streaming down her face, her hand over her mouth, sobbing as the auburn-haired man—Robb— helped her from the room. The younger boy was also crying, helped out by Bran, who was wheeling slowly.

It was her turn to sob. _I’m too late._

It was Christmas, she heard the soft sound of a radio in the nurse’s station wishing everyone a happy holiday, may they spend the time with friends and family. In the back of her mind she started hearing the strands of “Last Christmas.” Ironic a song about heartbreak would play now, she thought, stepping to the room. She paused, a curtain blocking her view. She couldn’t go in, not yet. Not now.

“Daenerys?” It was Bran, her name questioning in his call. He wheeled towards her, eyes sad behind his glasses. “You came.”

“I had to be here,” she murmured. She looked at the family, all of them clearly distraught. The young girl who had chased after her fell from the room, sobbing and in the arms of the man she now recognized had come to the shop once. _Gendry_, she remembered. She wiped at her eyes. They hurt, but no tears fell now. They couldn’t fall any longer. She looked at all of them, whispering, unsure how to say it until the words just fell out of her lips. “I was the one he saved. He saved my life last Christmas. He gave me time, he tried to go after the one who hurt me, and I’m so sorry he’s here…he’s here because of me.”

The girl—Arya—she grabbed for her hand, squeezing, earnest even through her grief. “You’re here because of him. It’s what he would have wanted.” She sobbed. “Stupid heroic bastard.”

It was the older brother who gestured for her to enter. “Please,” he croaked. “Please go in. You should say goodbye.”

“I didn’t know,” she breathed. _I wish I had known before._ She turned from them; she couldn’t look at his family any longer. She had to see him, she had to at least see him one time. Not the one she’d imagined, not the one who had revealed himself to her, but the real Jon. Even if it felt like she had already been with the real Jon.

_I fell in love with him. No matter how it was, I fell in love with him._

Her legs went of their own accord, leading her into the small room. The outline of a body in the bed took shape, a gray quilt pulled up over his chest. His arms rested on either side; she noticed he wasn’t wearing a shirt—the scars were still hidden. His black curls were like how they’d been when she’d kissed him in the park, tangled and unruly. The beard was thicker, more unkempt. Shadows beneath his eyes and hollows in his cheeks spoke to his lack of sunlight and significant nutrition. He was so pale, she thought, pressing her lips to a line to keep from crying.

_Don’t cry Dany. It’s Jon and you’re Dany and you’re here. He’s here too._

There were few wires and tubes. A machine beside the bed ticked a steadily dropping pulse. “He’s not gone yet,” she murmured, looking over her shoulder. They had gone. She turned her head back to him, unsure what to do. She stared at the screen again. It was so slow. The heartbeat so erratic. It would be time soon. Maybe they were just prepared, just expecting it to happen any second.

She sat on the edge of the bed, the thin mattress squeaking, sagging beneath her weight. Her hand slipped into his, thumb pressing to the web of skin between his thumb and index finger. “Please,” she murmured, squeezing it tight. “Please Jon. I’m here now. I remembered…I remembered everything. You saved me. You saved me and I survived…in more ways than one. You can’t leave. It’s your turn now.”

_It’s my turn to save you._

The hand in hers was so cold. The skin smooth, but chilled. She stared at his face, the one her fingers had mapped as they had kissed. The curve of his lips, slightly parted, the last bits of breath escaping them. The sooty eyelashes, long and thick, resting against his cheek. The widow’s peak of his dark hair. She touched her fingers lightly to it, beginning to trace her fingers along his forehead, down his temple and edge of his jaw. She brushed her fingers over his lower lip and her palm rested flat against his cheek, holding his face.

They had smiled together. They’d laughed. He’d told her things he hadn’t told anyone. She’d done the same. They saved each other. “I was a mess, I still am,” she breathed. She nibbled her lower lip and leaned in, dropping her forehead against his cool one. “I have never begged anyone in my life, but I am begging you Jon.” The sob came from a dark place, hidden in the very corners of her heart and she found herself holding him, crushing to his chest, whatever light she might have had within her trying to spark into him. She cried again, no tears falling as she sobbed, shoulders shaking.

It was only for him. The words she whispered into his ear, whatever gods there might have been in the world hearing as well. She may not have prayed while she lay dying on the table in the emergency room or bleeding out in the street, but she prayed now. _Hear me please, please don’t let him go. I found him. He found me._

“Don’t leave me.”

Don’t leave the way everyone else left. The way Rhaegar did. The way her son did. She turned her face, her nose brushing his and her lips pressing softly to the ones beneath her, taking his last breath, if that’s what it happened to be. If it was, then so be it. If meeting him, experiencing these moments with him over the past 10 days showed her anything, it showed her she was a survivor.

She was Daenerys Fucking Targaryen and nothing would bring her down.

Fingers traced from his face to his chest, beneath the quilt. Her palm flattened against his heart, over the ugly scar she had felt before. It was the same. The same scars that she bore on her heart too. _Yeah but yours are deeper._ No, that wasn’t necessarily true. They both held deep scars. They were the only ones who could understand how deep the other’s ran.

Only a bit, she lifted herself up from him, just enough to take his limp hand and fold it beneath the collar of her shirt, finding the top edge of her scar, digging her fingers into it, staring at his face. It remained unchanged. The weak pulse growing dimmer still. She heard movement, his family no doubt curious and probably horrified at this stranger who had shown up, a mess and panting and crying, and sitting now with their loved one, holding his hand to her heart.

There was nothing more she could do. Nothing more she thought would work, whatever that was supposed to mean or do. She had begged him. He had saved her last year. It was her turn to save him. And by the gods, she hoped she could.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _

Eyes closed, the monitor began to sound, the weak beeps falling to a steady drone. She did not need to look up to know the wavy lines had gone flat. There was nothing left. Nothing more to save.

_He was gone._

She lurched forward, hands on his face again, sobbing against him, the tears she thought had dried up falling once more. _No please, please don’t leave me, we need each other._ She thought of the last thing she could think of, the only words she wanted to say. The only words she could say, because it was the only thing she felt.

“I love you.”

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Someone started crying; it wasn’t her. Someone cursed; it wasn’t her. Someone screamed for a doctor; it wasn’t her.

All she knew was that she was there with him and he was breathing again beneath her. His heart fluttered under her fingers, a faint thud. It was weak but it was there. She did not move her face from his, she was too scared. She was scared if she moved he would go away again. She would wake up and this entire thing would have been a dream. The horrors of the last year, leading her to this place, where she finally felt she knew what she was supposed to do. She had finally found the person she was supposed to do it with, after so long of being alone.

His siblings were trying to get him to speak, but Dr. Mel pushed them from the room after checking his vitals, with a soft. "The light is strong again."

It could have been minutes or hours or even days, when she finally lifted her face from his, unfolding herself from his body, and remaining seated on the edge of the bed. She kept her hand in his, folded over his chest, fixing her gaze upon him. _Please Jon, please wake up._ Her lips cracked as she opened them, smiling through the memories of the past few days. "Remember our snowball fight?" she whispered, not caring at all if people thought she was mad. She laughed. Her breath snagged, it sounded more like a choke. "And you pushed me on the swings? You kept showing up when I needed you and then I realized that I didn't need you anymore, I just needed a little push." She closed her eyes again. "And my brother and I started talking again, I started helping people more...you helped me Jon. Please. Now it's my time. For you."

_Just open your eyes. Let me see your eyes again. For real this time._

One of the machines emitted a high pitched squawk, beeping increasing in tempo. She glanced at it, but wasn't sure what it meant, before she looked to the man whose face had been haunting her that Christmas. His head turned, barely, on the pillow, and in fascination she watched a muscle tick in his jaw. His forehead wrinkled briefly, brows creasing in concentration. _He's trying._ "It's Dany," she breathed on an exhale, all breath leaving her lungs. She laughed, seeing his lips twitch, almost a smile. "Follow my voice Jon. Like you did before. I found you. I'm here. Like you found me."

"Fucking seven hells," Robb gasped beside the bed. Arya smacked him, but he gestured to the screen. "Look at that, it's more than it's been in a year!"

Sansa gaped. "I cannot believe this. It shouldn't be ahppening. The doctors said he was...he was gone."

_Except it was happening._

The gray shifted, barely visible beneath his thick lashes, a wisp of storm clouds on the horizon. His eyelids flickered again, before lifting, obviously draining him of strength, his pulse increasing quickly, and his hand jerking in hers. She kept her eyes on him; she remembered him looking into the. Startled, but earnest, begging her to stay with him and look at him. It was her turn now. She made sure she was the first thing he saw, his pupils constricting when faced with the light of the room.

It dimmed quickly—someone must have realized and flicked off the overheads. He peered at her, no recognition. _What if it didn't work? What if he's like me and doesn't remember?_ "Jon," she murmured, finally seeing him. Truly seeing him now, real beneath her, skin pinking as blood flowed faster through him, and his hand tight in her grasp.

The world stood still, waiting for him to make the move, and the sound from his cracked lips was all she had ever wanted to hear in her life.

_"Dany."_

It was nary a whisper. The barest sound. To her it was everything. It filled her completely, forced a cry from her lips, and she gripped him tighter— if possible—leaning over him, brushing her lips over his again. His breath had turned to rapid gasps, lungs no doubt straining to take in what he had been unable to do on his own for so long. He clutched her, fingers grabbing for her, clinging to her like a lifeline.

He peered at her, not looking at anywhere but her. His smile faltered, eyes closing in fatigue, but a moment later he opened them again, staring at her for another moment. He struggled to speak, but she waited patiently. _She would wait forever._ "You...found..." He couldn't get the rest of the phrase out, eyes closing again.

It didn't matter. She knew what he was saying. "I found you," she confirmed.

"Saved."

She nodded again, laughing and leaning over him, kissing him again. She was never going to leave. She would stay here forever. _**I'm Jon and you're Dany and maybe, just maybe you're here because you want to be here.**_ She could only nod, hum in contentment, and marvel at the magic that still seemed to exist in the world, when all she'd thought for so long was that it was a horrible, dark place with only dark people. There might still be those edges, for certain, she knew them all too well, but right now she was in the arms of the man she loved and who had saved her that fateful night and she saved him too.

_Probably in more ways than a person can be saved._

So she confirmed it for him, leaning against him, exhausted. "You saved me too."

~/~/~/~

There were days where he wondered if he would be trapped forever, in the pitch black of an endless death. He went in and out of whatever world he’d been trapped inside of since he closed his eyes in that alley-way. Sometimes he thought the last thing he saw was really the sky above him, lying on the frozen ground, his blood pumping out of him faster than he could try to keep it inside, his hand weakly covering one of the wounds on his torso.

Somehow they found him before he was truly gone, but he might have died already when his eyes sprang open on a cold tabletop, blinding white lights above him. _Is this death? Is this where the gods took me?_ Everyone was screaming around him, hands stretching back and forth, blood everywhere. _I’m in a hospital, I think._

His mind went in and out; he was in nothing and then he was in the surgery room. He saw a red-headed woman leaning over him, whispering strange words, enigmatic smile. It wasn’t the one he wanted to see. All he could see were those vibrant purple eyes staring up at him from the ground, terrified, using him as her guiding light for staying alive. He wanted to see her again, he wanted to know if the connection was just in his mind or if it was in hers too.

Turning his head, he stared across the space, through a wide window into the adjoining room, meeting the gaze of the woman who he had tried to save. _I hope you live, you should live before me. I’m a mess._ He tried to smile. Tried to convey the hope he felt for her across that divide. Her amethyst eyes still held light, still held life, and he was grateful to see it as hers closed the same time as his.

While he laid in the bed, sometimes hearing the words around him, the ramblings of what Arya had been up to that weekend or Sansa crying over how sorry she was for being mean to him when they were growing up. Bran apologizing to him for yelling at him as he walked out of the house. Robb telling him that once he returned to the world of the living, he would kick his ass because he had enough to deal with and didn’t need his emo bastard brother to fuck up things more. Gendry hadn’t said much, just that if he woke up and couldn’t walk, he’d make him a cool wheelchair like he’d done for Bran. Rickon only ever cried or asked how someone could possibly “sleep” so much. Theon just said that when he woke up he’d have so many scars all the chicks would want to fuck him.

He only ever was grateful when they brought Ghost to him, or Ghost was close enough. The dreams he’d had as a child had magnified tenfold in this world of darkness, fumbling through with arms outstretched, trying to find the light to wake him up. Ghost helped him see further; he wasn’t sure if it was truly real, when he was inside of Ghost. He could run, could see everyone around him, but he was too far away. He was in Scotland again. Nowhere near London.

_Did she survive? She had to have survive. I need to see her again._

Until he did see her again.

Something changed, shifted beneath him and inside of him. There had been a long period of darkness, until he could be near Ghost again. Once he go close enough, he was inside of him, until he wasn’t anymore. He was standing outside of Ghost, shocked, a full body on the street, turning and wondering why things had changed so drastically. _Am I finally dead?_

He’d turned and there she was. Dragging a suitcase and a cat carrier and then Ghost was nudging him and he was striding towards her, knowing this had to be. He had to get to her. If he did, they could finally be together. He could finally wonder what happened after he’d found her in the street, after he’d closed his eyes in that surgery room, and he knew he had to help her again. He couldn’t explain how, it was in his chest, burning hot, and he would do it.

There wasn’t a lot of time.

And she had healed. She was on the way to further healing. She was Dany and he was Jon and she wanted to be there. He had to be there too. He had to stay long enough for her to find him. _Please don’t leave me_, he begged. _Don’t let me go away for good this time._

Everything was leaving him, what little strength he had inside of him, getting into Ghost’s mind was growing more difficult. He struggled sometimes to breathe. His heart slowed to a few thudding beats before speeding up erratically. They said he was going to die soon. They cried over him and he screamed inwardly that he couldn’t die yet, because it was Dany’s turn. She had to find him.

The moment he felt her lips on his, he knew.

_She’s here._

All the strength inside of him surged, channeled into the basic task of opening his eyes. He disappeared once, the darkness taking him over again, until he felt that light once more, her hand inside of his. She kept speaking to him, his Dany, murmuring how he saved her. She was a mess and he saved her.

_You saved me too Dany._

The day Ned died was the day part of him died too. He was always an orphan, but now more so, his only champion gone. He was an angry, sullen man with limited career options because he’d planned to always go into the military and that was cut short by a medical discharge and his inability to get along with anyone else. He was furious at the world for some reason and he couldn’t understand why. The gods seemed to enjoy taking everything from him.

And they seemed to enjoy taking his life from him too, he’d thought, lying in that alley so close to death.

No wonder Dany had been so jaded and upset after her accident; he sympathized with her. It helped him understand some of his issues too, but he still needed her.

And he opened his eyes and there she was. The Dany he’d left in that park, with the whisper to find him before it was too late. She had found him. Like he found her. She saved him. Like he saved her.

The crazy red-head doctor, Melisandre she’d whispered to him at one point during his recovery, claimed that the light had touched him, had brought him back to the world. He had a purpose. He wasn’t sure about that.

Dany’s hands in his kept him steady, even as he fought for breath, fought against the pain as they began to move his arms and legs around now that he was awake. He struggled to speak sometimes, too exhausted and willing to sink back into nothing, but he couldn’t. He had to stay for her. He thought how last Christmas they’d come together and they’d just disappeared from each other for the whole year. This year was different.

“Merry Christmas Jon,” she’d whispered to him, when they got him out of the bed and into a chair, pushing him to the window to look out into the snowy courtyard, where Ghost was sitting with Arya. He smiled at his loyal companion, who had helped make all this possible. She wrapped her arms around his neck, breathing. “I still don’t understand how any of this could be, but I’m glad it existed.”

He smiled at her, weak, but forcing his hand up to lightly touch her face, whispering back. “Magic Dany, it’s magic.”

The grin he received in return only confirmed it for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue: One year later at Christmas, Jon gets Dany a gift, but Dany has one for him too.
> 
> Fic Updates: Will finish the Sansa Queen fic soon; starting a fun little Modern AU Christmas one-shot.


	12. I just want you for my own more than you could ever know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue-- one year later Jon and Dany exchange presents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet epilogue to cap off this fic that I started in September! (haha) Thanks for sticking with it, I had planned to have it finished up much sooner, but life and other things got in the way. 
> 
> Enjoy :D

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185802593@N06/49153848057/in/dateposted-public/)

_I don't want a lot for Christmas_

  
_There is just one thing I need_

  
_I don't care about the presents_

  
_Underneath the Christmas tree_

  
_I just want you for my own_

  
_More than you could ever know_

  
_Make my wish come true oh_

  
_All I want for Christmas is you_

_ **-Mariah Carey, All I Want for Christmas** _

**xii. Epilogue**

**One Year Later**

**24 December**

**Winterfell**

Dany jumped out of the way, watching with slight pity as Drogon screeched and shot by her, a blur of fuzzy black and reddish brown. He jumped up onto the bannister, hissing at Ghost, who panted after him. The two little kittens she’d adopted a couple of months before were running up after him, in solidarity with their older brother. Who really did not want anything to do with any of them.

“Poor Drogon.”

She chuckled, turning away from the coat closet, where she’d placed her things, turning and leaning into Jon’s arms, her fingers linking with his. “I don’t think anyone has ever said poor Drogon before,” she teased. She felt movement above her head, frowning briefly at his knowing smile and rolled her eyes upward. “Huh. How did that get there?”

“I might have had Arya put some on every doorway.”

The clutch of mistletoe was barely anchored to the wooden beam, but that didn’t stop her. She leaned forward as Jon lightly brushed his lips against hers. She felt her foot pop up, like a cheesy romantic comedy, giggling from his nose brushing across hers. It felt like they had only just begun, but it had been an entire year. An entire year of never being apart from each other for longer than a couple days, never letting go of each other when they were in the same vicinity, and trusting that whatever might happen wouldn’t be the end.

They had survived death. They’d found each other, through darkness and chaos. Nothing could break them. Stop them. End them.

She rested her head on his chest, her eyes fluttering shut as she heard his heartbeat thud against her ear. It was reassuring. A lullaby. “This place is magical,” she whispered, looking around the back of Winterfell’s living quarters. If she thought Dragonstone was a magical one-of-a-kind place to grow up, she couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to be here. It was something out of a fairytale, complete with suits-of-armor and weapons mounted on the walls.

The living space was warm and cozy, a farmhouse style with warm fires in each of the rooms and exposed wooden beams in the ceilings.

They had come up to celebrate Christmas here at the request of Arya, who did not think they wanted to be in London. It had been two years since their shared attack and their first since they’d found each other again. She agreed, wanting to spend Christmas at his childhood home. Even though he said it was not as friendly as she might expect, despite his welcoming family. Well, most of the welcoming family. Even his Aunt Catelyn couldn’t seem to help herself with some of her animosity, but Jon had said she was trying. _”She’s not as mean as she has been in the past, that’s something.”_

She gazed out one of the large windows in the corridor, watching the snow fall over the sloping hillsides. The grounds of Winterfell were beautiful, haunting even. Dragonstone held an eerie beauty for her, an old history with mythical figures and spoke of days of opulence and elegance. This place was cold, hard, and made her think of days where people struggled to survive, but survive they did.

That morning they’d walked through the cemetery; she’d paid her respects at the stone figure of Ned Stark, thanking him for raising the man she’d fallen in love with, the man the universe had destined for her. She’d gone later, when Jon had returned to the house—at her urging so he could rest, even if he didn’t think he needed to—paying her respects to Lyanna Stark, the woman who died birthing her son, who she hoped would like her and want her for her child. Dany thought about what Lyanna Stark must have been like, about what parts of her personality carried over into her son.

From the few photos she had seen of the woman, he was the spitting image of her. _She was a survivor._ That’s what was written of her in one of the Stark family books. Dany could only smile when she read that. _As is her son._

“You should get back to your family,” she murmured, feeling him come up behind her, looking out at the dark moors.

“Hmm, no they’re fighting over some game Rickon dragged out. I can’t handle it. Too competitive.”

They stole away up the back set of stairs, into his childhood bedroom. Since they’d arrived earlier that evening, she hadn’t had an opportunity to really see where he had spent his time as a child. This was the first time she had been to Winterfell; it had a strange warmth to it but the coldness she could also understand. It suited him. The room was small, smaller than Arya’s or Sansa’s, which she’d seen earlier. The twin bed would be interesting for them later, she thought, smile flirting on her lips as she bounced on it, hands curling in the worn plaid quilt.

She crossed her legs, bobbing her boot slightly as she leaned back on her elbows, glancing up at the exposed beams and the image of the godswood beyond the frosted pane of the single window. “You ever get a girl up here?” she teased, meeting his twinkling gaze.

He leaned against the armoire, hands in his pockets, ankles crossed in front of him. The year had been good to him, she thought, reflecting on how hard he had worked through his recovery. Just like her; she understood it. When his family was hard on him and didn’t get it when he just wanted to sleep for hours or when he snapped, moods swinging from one end to another. She reached her hand out for him, shifting on the bed, and he stepped towards her, standing between her splayed legs.

“No,” he said, hands tangling in her hair; she’d grown it out, the silver curls hitting down to the middle of her back. He grinned, wiggling his brows. “Too scared my father would catch us. Or Robb. I don’t know which would be worse.”

She giggled. “So where did Jon Snow take his first girl?”

“A cave out back.”

“Oh Jon,” she chided, swatting him and he laughed. “A cave? Seriously?”

“I was sixteen, it was the best possible location at the time,” he defended himself, still smiling. He dropped a kiss to her lips, pulling her up from the bed. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

They knocked into each other, giggling like stupid fools the whole way out. She wasn’t sure why they were sneaking around. Unless he just didn’t want to deal with Arya roping them into the game or Sansa grilling them about their future. Robb was the worst, always teasing his brother and seeing how far he could get him until he snapped. She must admit, it did take _a lot._ She did not feel like running into Catelyn though. His stepmother was quite a character, no wonder he referred to her as _Lady Stoneheart._

They bundled back into their coats; she still couldn’t believe he wore his normal black pea coat when she’d had to upgrade from her treasured faux fur jacket into one of his black parkas. It was so damn cold!

Unfortunately, they weren’t quiet enough, because as soon as Jon turned the corner to the kitchen, Arya popped out, holding a box of Christmas crackers. She scowled at them. “Where are you two sneaking off?”

“None of your business.”

Sansa entered the kitchen next, followed by Robb. Dany rolled her eyes; seemed they were going to have to face the family anyway. She really liked Arya, but Sansa could be a tad stand-offish. She wasn’t sure why, but she just let her behave how she wanted. It seemed Arya kept her older sister’s bitchy moods in check most of the time. “We’re opening presents,” the tall redhead announced, her brows furrowing. “And we won’t wait for you.” She cocked her head. “Jon should you be going out in the cold this late?”

_At least she does try to look after her brother._ Dany saw his jaw set, irritated that they still treated him like he was about to pass out at a given moment. She patted his hand, joined in hers. “He’s fine. We won’t be long.”

Robb winked at his brother, leaning on the counter. “Giving Dany her present, are you Jon? Bit cold for what you have in mind, eh?”

“Fuck off Robb.” His cheeks turned pale pink. She grinned, rising on her toes to kiss him, unsure what Robb meant, but she was sure she’d find out soon. He idly kissed her back, before giving his older brother the finger. “We’ll be back.”

“Hmm, sure you will.”

“Shut it,” Jon snapped, pushing his brother for good measure as he tugged her outside.

He led her from the house, their boots crunching in the snow. She realized from where he’d shown her on their little tour earlier that evening that he was taking her to the godswood. Her stomach flipped; she had been looking forward to seeing it and she knew that it was a very special place for him. Even back in London, when he’d first told her about it. _When we first kissed._

Their breath mingled in puffs, shallow as he bundled her close to him, his gloved fingers wrapping in her mittened hand. It had been a whole year, but sometimes she couldn’t believe it was even real. Or if she would wake up in that hospital room, realizing it was _she_ who had been in a coma. Sometimes she had to verify it for herself, she’d jump up and pinch him, only satisfied when he yelped that he was real. Or make sure that people were actually speaking to them both, acknowledging their presence.

It was strange because they had jumped clear into a stage of a relationship that took most people weeks or months or maybe even years. They shared something no one else could understand, a commingled trauma. _Matching scars._ She leaned on him, that hat she wore tugged tight over her head, one of his black beanies since she’d forgotten to bring one, not realizing it would be _so fucking cold._

“It’s too bad Vis couldn’t come.”

She shrugged; it wasn’t so bad. “He’s fine. He’s with his girlfriend in Dorne.”

“Honestly I’m glad. He and Sansa would _not_ get along.”

Since both of them were intense control freaks, she agreed. She laughed. “He’s healthy and in his own way I think he’s happy. That’s all I care about right now.”

“Good, I’m glad.” He kissed her temple, hugging her tighter to him.

The godswood was probably the most beautiful thing she’d seen, she thought as they approached. It was wrapped in high stone walls with a wrought iron gate that had wolves howling at the big hearttree. She lightly touched the bars, stepping inside. Everything went quiet the moment they entered. No sound of wind or even the rustling of leaves. The snow fell in a silent blanket over everything.

White twinkle lights filled the bushes and smaller trees, giving the great weirwood tree an even more otherworldly glow. She lifted her face to it, marveling at the crimson of its leaves. It was winter and still they clung to the branches, snowy white trunk leading down to deep roots that gripped the ground. There was a black pond beside it, steam lifting off. She knelt, tugging her mitten off and skimming her fingers through, shivering at the warmth.

Jon whispered beside her; it sounded like a shout in the din. “Winterfell sits on hot springs. This is one of them.”

“It’s gorgeous,” she murmured, lifting her face to the hearttree. The carved face smiled at her, laughing or perhaps even crying, depending on how you felt when you approached it, she supposed. She was not one for gods, especially after her accident. She knew Jon had gone through his own crisis, confessing he’d thought they’d forsaken him, after everything that had happened.

_Perhaps this is why we’re here._

Her stomach quivered in anticipation; she knew then and there that this was the place to share his _present_ with him. She’d been beside herself wondering. Missandei told her to just _give it to him_ but after all they’d been through and all that this holiday meant to them both, especially this year, she wanted it to be perfect.

A white movement beside her startled her, turning to see Ghost padding through to them. “He loves it here,” Jon explained, fingers ruffling the wolf’s ears. She did the same, smiling as he sniffed at her stomach before pressing against her and moving on. Jon frowned. “He keeps doing that. What’s his problem?”

“He’s just protective.”

“Of what?”

She silenced him with a kiss. It was about time, she thought, savoring the feeling of him in her arms. _This is real Dany_, a small voice reminded her. She felt more grateful than ever, his fingers carding through her hair, drawing her up against his solid chest. Even through the layers of coats and scarves and gloves she felt the heat he emitted, heard his heartbeat in her ears. They kissed like it was the first time, in that little park in London. Or lying in that hospital bed after she’d found him, before it was too late.

The cold felt like nothing all of a sudden, bound up with him. She broke the kiss first, burrowing her face into his neck, beneath his scarf and the collar of his coat, seeking any bit of him she could reach. “It feels like a lifetime has changed since I met you,” she whispered.

He nodded in agreement, arms wrapped tight around her. She watched his face from her position, the way the twinkle lights and the glow of the moon above cast shifting shadows over his pale skin. His gray eyes shined, locked on the face of the hearttree. “I didn’t think I’d ever wake up,” he confessed. He held onto her tighter. “And then you appeared. I thought the gods had left me, but they gave me you.” He kept his eyes on the tree, whispering, perhaps to them. “Thank you.”

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She sniffed, remembering those dark days where she was so hateful and mad. So _angry_. Then he showed up. “You saved me,” she whispered.

“You saved yourself Dany. I was just there.” He laughed a bit, finally gazing upon her. “You saved me. I’d be dead without you.”

_We saved each other._ She kissed him again, mind going blank as it often did when she was wrapped up in him. The woman who had been so angry, so broken…she could scarcely believe it was her sometimes. He’d helped her as much as she helped him. A year later and she was _happy._ She no longer felt like she wanted to burn the world with her. Her eyes fluttered open after a moment, feeling him shift beside her. She frowned, seeing a small box in the palm of his hand.

_What the…? _

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered, his voice shaking slightly. She noticed that he’d removed his gloves and his hands were also shaking.

She looked up at him, quizzical, seeing the fear in his eyes. Her stomach churned, butterflies rising inside of her as she swallowed hard, taking the box from him. She flicked it open, gasping at the beautiful diamond and ruby ring set in the crushed velvet. “Oh gods, Jon!” She glanced up to him, but he wasn’t there. Her eyes cast down, wide on him as he knelt before her. She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “What are you doing?” she sobbed, but still kept grinning. “Jon!”

He looked sheepish. “I know we haven’t talked about it but we did rush into things before so I just…” He sighed, offering his hands up in surrender. “Marry me, Dany?”

There was absolutely only one answer. “Yes!” she burst out, laughing and fumbling with the box as he stood. She tore off her mittens, removing some of the rings she already had on her left hand, staring with mouth ajar as he pushed the ring onto her finger, flush against her hand. She gaped at it, the gorgeous sparkling gems. “Oh gods it’s perfect.”

“Robb knew,” he explained, words fumbling from his mouth. “That’s why he was being a dick earlier, I told him I wanted to do it here in the godswood and I just wasn’t sure if it was the right time because I really wanted to do it at Christmas and…_mmpfh_.”

Sometimes this man could be so thick, she thought, wrapping around him as she silenced him with a kiss. She cupped his face in her palm, fingers dragging over his cheeks. Her left hand, glimmering with the ring, fell from his face and curled into his coat, flattening against the rigid scar she could feel through his shirt. She reminded herself he was here. This was real. This was not a dream.

_ _I’m Jon and you’re Dany and you’re here because maybe, just maybe you want to be._ _

__Yes I want to be here. I am here. With him. Jon. And I’m Dany._ _

His hand moved through to curl under the stretchy hem of her sweater, his palm cold for just a moment on her heated skin, shivering as he touched her scar. They swayed for a moment together, foreheads pressed and noses brushing, their breaths mingling as they savored the feeling. It made sense, she thought, standing here beneath the hearttree of his ancestors, the Old Gods watching them. On Christmas Eve.

Two years ago she almost died.__I did die_, s_he reminded herself. So did he. Somehow the world placed them together and somehow they managed to find each other. She kissed him, lightly, reaching her hand into the pocket of her parka, glad she hadn’t taken it out and left it up at the house. “I have your gift,” she whispered, feeling her heartbeat quicken.

“Dany you being here is my gift.”

She grinned, shaking her head. “I hope you’ll like it. I can’t really take it back.” She handed him the small red envelope.

He studied the script writing on the front, sounding it out._ “_Kepa_?” _He frowned a little, looking to her curiously. “What’s that mean? It’s Valyrian, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” It was her preferred language when she spoke to him, tangled up after making love, when she realized how happy she truly was. It was a magical language, beautiful and poetic, and it suited them both in those moments. She beamed. “I’ll tell you what it means in a minute. Open.”

He reluctantly let go of her so he could open the envelope, tugging out the small black and white photo, staring at it with a frown. He turned it around a few times, trying to make sense of what it was. “It’s a picture,” he deduced.

_“_I know it isn’t much,” she whispered, suddenly nervous. “But it seemed like a good time to tell you and…” She watched his face when it hit him, realizing what the swiggles were and the outline in the center formed. She giggled, grabbing for him as he sagged against her, face going pale and his grey eyes widening. She laughed, when he threw his arms in the air in a whoop and grabbed her, spinning her several times before they tumbled down into the snow, rolling as he pinned her down, kissing all over her face. She laughed, kicking and pushing at him, but too weak to do much damage. “Jon! Gods, you’re acting a fool!”

“I am a fool,” he said, kissing her again, hard and swift, before he pulled her up and into his arms, touching their foreheads. His voice was tiny. Nervous. “You’re pregnant?”

She nodded, stroking every bit of him she could get her numb fingers on. “Yes.”

“But your lung…”

“Had no trouble the night we conceived,” she said. She knew he worried sometimes for her, even though he was the one who still had to pause sometimes because of pain in his chest. She kissed him again. He knew what this meant to her. The ramifications. “It seemed that the doctors were wrong before…I can still have children…with you.”

“Miracle baby.”

Yes, our miracle baby. Two people that should have died and yet somehow here they were, sitting in the snow beneath a weirwood tree, two years after that fateful night. She kissed him again. Pushed at his scarf, wanting to touch him. __Needing__to touch him. He wanted the same, both of them fighting each other, trembling in the cold and from the overwhelming emotions keeping them from standing.

Dany felt like she finally understood what she was supposed to be doing in this life. She finally felt whole. She was working again, she had a good relationship with her brother…even Rhaegar’s building, the silly Christmas shop the Lannisters had sold, it wasn’t hers anymore but it was still standing. Robb Stark had decided he wanted to expand Stark Industries charitable efforts and turned it into a place for kids with disabilities. It gave Bran something too, it gave her a place where she could coexist with her brother’s memory and her passions and purpose.

And she had Jon. She had that stupid man who she crashed into on the street, who bothered her and showed up and forced her to figure out her shit. The man she fell in love with and knew they shared something deeper. The one who saved her. The one she saved.

“We almost died,” she stated. She gripped him tight, his hands wide on her back, holding her to him. He nodded. She looked at the hearttree, making a vow, one she would never break. “I am not going to lose you Jon Snow. You’re mine. Forever.”

He grinned up, the sad smiles she’d gotten used to no longer present, instead he beamed, eyes crinkling as it took up his whole face. “And you’re mine Daenerys.”

“Merry Christmas Jon.”

He kissed her, holding her close. “Merry Christmas Dany.”

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kepa in Valyrian means 'Father.' :D


End file.
